Away from Safe Harbor
by Pipes of Pan
Summary: With the President spending the weekend at Camp David, Sam goes sailing with friends. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: At the beginning of _Take This Sabbath Day, _Sam had plans to go sailing the following day. First Josh told him, "Sam, just stay in the boat this time, and I'm a happy guy," and later Leo said, "Hang onto a rope or something, would you?" I had that in mind when I included a conversation in _Getting through the Twilight_ with CJ scolding him for not keeping his cell phone in his pocket while he's sailing. Ecri suggested that, if I hadn't already written the story of what happened, I should. I thought about it and, well, here's Chapter 1.

* * *

It was, Josh decided as he returned from a late lunch, one of the quietest Saturdays he could remember in the West Wing — in the White House, if the small crowd waiting patiently in the rain for the tour was any indication. With the President and First Lady spending the weekend at Camp David, both Sam and CJ had opted to take the day off. Sam had gone sailing on Chesapeake Bay with some friends and CJ planned on shopping and a manicure. Josh had come in hoping to finish a few things and leave, but one thing had led to another, and here he was four hours later. He glanced at his watch and promised himself that, in another hour, he would be out the door.

"Leo wants you in his office," Donna announced as he passed her desk.

"Did he say for what?"

"No, Margaret called —"

"She didn't say what he wanted?"

"No, she —"

"She didn't know, or she didn't say?" he asked, ducking into his office.

She followed him, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed as he weighed what he should take with him. "Josh, has it ever occurred to you that you'd find out that much sooner if you'd just stop asking questions I can't answer and _get to Leo's office_?"

He smirked at her. "Yeah, but it wouldn't be half as much fun."

"Well, I'm so happy I can spend my Saturday entertaining you."

"You coming?" Toby demanded from the hallway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way." Grabbing a pad and the top three folders from the pile, he started to follow Toby, but stopped in the doorway, Donna nearly walking into him.

"Look, why don't you take off? Go shopping or something."

"You're not going to need me?"

"Nope."

"I'm not going to get a call in an hour telling me to come back?"

"After I see Leo, I'm taking off, too." He shook his head at the doubt on her face. "Donna, go! I'll see you on Monday." Hurrying to catch up with Toby, he asked, "You know what this is about?"

"No, and I was about ten seconds from walking out the door when I got the call."

"Yeah, I'm going to be out of here in an hour."

Margaret looked up as they approached, her expression serious. "He's waiting for you." Her phone rang, and she grabbed it. "Leo McGarry's office. Hold on, I'll transfer you in, Commander."

Josh looked at Toby who shrugged. "We'll know when we know."

Leo was on the phone when they walked in, barely glancing at them as he listened and scribbled on a pad. Josh dropped into one of the chairs as Toby sat down on the couch. They waited as Leo asked a few terse questions about the weather and then hung up.

"What's —" Josh started.

"Hold on," Leo said before yelling, "Margaret!"

She appeared in the doorway almost immediately.

"Did you get a hold of CJ?"

"She's on her way in. When do you want to call —"

"Give me five minutes, okay?"

"Leo, what's goin' on?" Josh demanded as she left.

"Here's the thing: the Coast Guard got a radio message an hour ago —"

"Sam," Toby mumbled, and Josh's stomach clenched.

Leo frowned. "Yeah. A squall blew up, and the boat Sam was on got caught in the middle of it."

"'The boat Sam _was_ on'," Josh repeated. "He..." He swallowed and tried again, his voice thin. "He's… not on it any more?"

"There was an accident, and he was knocked overboard." Leo glanced at his notes. "The Coast Guard doesn't have any details yet. The boat radioed for help as soon as it happened."

"They didn't stop?" Josh demanded.

"Damn it, Josh, it's not like they have brakes on those things! They turned around — or whatever the hell it is they do — as soon as they could."

Toby cleared his throat. "The Coast Guard's on the way?"

"They dispatched a boat, and it just arrived. They know approximately where he went in, so both boats are looking for him, but the water's still pretty rough."

"Are they sure it's our Sam?" CJ asked from the doorway, her face pale.

"Yeah, they're certain."

She came in and sat beside Toby, so close their shoulders touched.

"I'm talking to Commander McManus of the Coast Guard, and he's on the radio to both boats. He also has a Medevac helicopter standing by." Leo leaned back in his chair. "Look, I know we're all worried, but we have jobs to do. As soon as I have news, I'll update you."

Toby made a few notes on his pad. "Does the President know?"

"I've already spoken to him and convinced him to stay at Camp David. The Coast Guard really doesn't need their Commander-in-Chief looking over their shoulders while they do this."

"Sam was really looking forward to this weekend," CJ murmured.

Leo took off his glasses and tossed them onto his desk. "Let's all remember he has a lot of experience on boats. He practically grew up on a sailboat."

"He knows what to do," Josh added, forcing himself to sound positive. "I mean, he's _taught_ sailing, for God's sake."

The phone rang, and they all flinched at the sound. Leo reached for it, his face grim. "Leo McGarry. No, Mr. President, there's been no more news."

Josh released the breath he had been holding and took another deeper one, trying to calm down. _Come on, Sam. Just hang on._

"I should... write something," Toby muttered, getting to his feet. His hand shook slightly as he closed his memo pad and put it in his shirt pocket. He looked at CJ. "Are you going to change?"

She looked at her jeans and nodded. "I've got a suit in my office."

"And I'll —" Josh began to stand up, but dropped back into the chair when Leo pointed at it. "— sit here." He dropped his head into his hands. Every ounce of him wanted to be out there, looking for Sam. It was ridiculous and he knew it, but anyone who expected him to wait patiently for news did not know him.

Leo hung up as Toby and CJ left. He looked at Josh, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "You okay?"

Josh shrugged. Was he? Was anyone? He had known Sam the longest, had brought him into the campaign. Toby and Sam worked together every day, defining and refining the President's message, sometimes at the top of their lungs. CJ looked on Sam as friend, younger brother and, occasionally, verbal sparring partner.

"The President wants to send someone —"

He was on his feet before Leo finished the sentence.

"Sit down, will ya?"

"But —"

"I don't need you running off half-cocked, Josh. The only reason I'm letting you anywhere near those people is that Margaret checked and you're listed as Sam's emergency contact." Leo shook his head. "God knows what he was thinking."

Josh studied his hands. "He decided that, you know, with his parents across the country, he might need somebody here making decisions if he, uh, couldn't." He looked at Leo. "The instructions he gave me are in my office. I've gotta take them with me."

Margaret appeared in the doorway, her eyes darting from one to the other. "Leo, there's a helicopter waiting."

Leo blinked. "A helicopter?"

"The President ordered it." She glanced down at her pad. "Do you want me to make that call now?"

"Yeah, do that," Leo agreed before returning his attention to Josh. "I don't want you charging in there like a bull in a china shop, do you hear me? These people are professionals; they know what they're doing."

He raked his hand through his hair. "I know, I know."

Jotting down a number on a piece of paper, Leo held it out. "The President wants a status report every fifteen minutes. If he has any questions, you will get the answers in the most diplomatic way possible. Is that understood?"

Slipping the paper into his wallet, Josh nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Y'know what your mother would say if she were here right now?" Leo asked. "'Don't go —'"

"— 'borrowing trouble,'" Josh finished. "Yeah, I'll try to remember that. Has anybody called Sam's parents?"

"That's the call Margaret's making. Damn! I hoped I'd have some news for them."

"Oh, I think you have enough right now," Josh said under his breath as he walked to the door. He knew David and Kate Seaborn. This would not be an easy conversation on either side.


	2. Chapter 2

"I thought we could go out for dinner tonight," David Seaborn said, putting his coffee mug into the dishwasher.

Kate looked up from the list she was writing. "I feel as if I haven't seen you this week."

He wrapped his arms around her. "How about that Italian place you like? We haven't been there in a while."

"That sounds good." She kissed him. "Now I've got to run. Lena's expecting me in fifteen minutes. I should be home by five."

"I'll make a reservation for half past seven."

As she turned to go, David's cell phone rang. He glanced at it, surprised to see the 202 area code.

"I thought Sam was going sailing this weekend."

"He was. He mentioned it when he called last week, remember?"

David dropped onto one of the tall stools along the peninsula and flipped open his phone. "Hello."

"Mr. Seaborn?" a woman inquired.

"Yes, this is David Seaborn."

"Mr. Seaborn, I'm calling from Leo McGarry's office. Would you hold for him, please?"

"Is it Sam?" Kate asked.

He managed to shake his head. A call from the White House Chief of Staff? Something was very wrong. He held out his hand to Kate and pulled her close.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"I don't know. I'm on hold for —"

"David, this is Leo McGarry."

"Leo, what's going on?"

"You know that Sam went sailing this weekend?"

"Yes, he mentioned it the last time we spoke." David tried to brace himself against the blow he knew was coming.

"The Coast Guard received a distress call from the boat Sam was on. He was knocked overboard during a squall. They're looking for him now."

"Wh…" He took a breath to steady himself. "When did this happen?"

"I got the call about an hour ago. The Coast Guard dispatched one of its boats, and they're coordinating the search. I'm sorry, but I don't have any more details than that."

"I understand."

"David, I want to assure you and Kate that everything possible is being done. The President is personally monitoring the situation, and Josh Lyman is on the way to the Coast Guard station to represent him."

Gripping Kate's hand tighter, he forced words passed the lump in his throat. "Should we come?"

There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment before Leo spoke. "Give us half an hour before you decide. In the meantime, my assistant will look into flights for you."

"That's not necessary. We can —"

"David, I have a White House full of people who will want to help. Let us handle this for you."

"All right. Thank you."

"The moment we hear _anything_, I'll call you immediately."

"We'll be waiting." David closed his phone and looked at Kate.

"Something's happened to Sam," she whispered.

He nodded and pulled her close. "A squall blew up, and he…" He swallowed hard. "He went overboard."

Her hands knotted in the front of his shirt. "Oh, God!"

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, trying to find some small measure of reassurance. "The Coast Guard is already there and looking for him." He rested his cheek against her dark hair. "Sam's a good sailor, Kate. He knows what to do."

"I know, I know he is. That's the only thing that's keeping me from panicking." She pulled back to look at him. "Does Leo think we should come?"

"His assistant…" He paused, searching for a name.

"Margaret," Kate supplied. "Her name is Margaret."

He nodded, remembering stories their son had told them about the administrative assistants. Sam respected the work they did and the support they gave the Senior Staff, but at the same time, the relationships they had with their bosses amused him no end, especially his own with Cathy. "Right. Margaret's looking into flights."

"I _need_ to go, David," Kate whispered.

"So do I. I know they'll find him, and he'll be —" He choked on the word 'alive'. "He'll be _fine_, but I want to be there all the same."

"We'd better start packing, then."

As Kate turned to walk away, David pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, leaning into him and resting her head against his shoulder. They had people to call, plans to make, and others to cancel. But for now, for just one minute more, they simply held onto each other.

* * *

"Josh, what's going on?" Donna asked as he jerked open the middle drawer of his desk and shuffled through the contents until he found the envelope Sam had given him months before. "Why did CJ come in?"

He started, surprised she was still there. Usually she departed at warp speed the instant he said she could leave. "Wh-what?"

"Why did CJ come in?" she repeated.

"There was…" His voice thinned out to nothing, and he had to start again. "A storm blew up, and Sam, ah, fell off the boat he was on."

Donna gasped. "What?"

"We don't know any of the details," he rushed to explain, "but the Coast Guard's already there looking for him."

Her hand went to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Josh!"

"Listen to me," he told her firmly. "Any minute now, they're going to call and say they have him, and he's fine."

"But, if he's not —"

"No, we're not going there, Donna. Sam. Will. Be. Fine. He knows what to do."

"Has anybody called his parents? They should know what's happening."

"Leo was about to when I left his office." Shoving the envelope into his backpack, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Look, I've got to go. There's a helicopter waiting for me."

"Go? Where are you going?" she called after him as he hurried down the hall.

"The President wants me to liaise with the Coast Guard. I have my cell if you need me."

She followed him, half-running to keep up. "What about Cathy? Has anybody told her?"

"I don't know. I think Bonnie's in, check with her." Josh stopped abruptly. "Look, I know I told you that you could leave, but —"

"I'll go see Bonnie and then check with Margaret. She might need an extra pair of hands."

"Thank you."

Donna managed a smile. "Sam will be fine, Josh."

"Yeah. " He turned and started away.

"You'll call when you hear something?" she called after him.

"Count on it."


	3. Chapter 3

Toby carried the statement he had finally finished to CJ's office. Only a few paragraphs long, it had taken him almost forty-five minutes to write. He rubbed his forehead. He still had things to do, but he wanted to be in the room when CJ briefed the press.

He knocked on the door, and CJ opened it, her suit looking severe after the jeans and sweater she had arrived wearing. He waited until she finished putting in her earring before handing her the single sheet of paper.

She read it and put it in her portfolio. "I'm not taking questions. We don't know that much, and I don't want to speculate."

"Someone from the Coast Guard is coming in for the next briefing. They'll handle the technical questions."

"Has Leo called Sam's parents? They shouldn't hear it from CSPAN."

He nodded, gripping the back of a guest chair. "I just checked with Margaret. He spoke to them about half an hour ago. She's, ah, arranging flights."

CJ sighed. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I should get in there."

Carol appeared in the doorway, wearing jeans and with her hair up in a ponytail. "What do you want me to do?"

"What are you doing here?" CJ asked.

"Donna called and told me what's going on. I wanted to help." She looked from CJ to Toby. "Is that all right?"

Taking a deep breath, CJ nodded. "I'm glad you're here. We're a little short staffed."

"If you're ready, I'll start herding them in."

"You coming?" CJ asked as Carol left.

He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah."

_"Please take your seats. The briefing is about to begin."_

Finding a place at the back where CJ would see him from the podium, Toby watched the Press Corps slowly take their seats. The room buzzed with quiet conversation.

"Hey, what's going on?" Danny Concannon asked as he passed. "The President's still at Camp David, right?"

Toby rocked forward and back. "Right."

"'Cause we usually don't get called in on Saturday if he's not in the building."

The door to the left of the podium opened, and CJ walked in. Toby heard the rapid click of camera shutters as the last few reporters sat down.

"Good afternoon. Thank you for coming in. I'm going to read a brief statement, but I will not take any questions." She waited for the disgruntled murmur to die down. "Approximately one hour and forty-five minutes ago at 12:35 pm Eastern Time, the United States Coast Guard received the report of a COB, or crew overboard…"

Toby studied the carpet at his feet as she continued, amazed at the calm she projected. He had written the words, but she infused them with the confidence that the Coast Guard would find Sam, and he would be alive.

"…The President is monitoring the situation from Camp David, and I will update you as information becomes available." She looked up then, taking off her glasses. "As most of you know, Sam is not only a member of the Senior Staff, but a close friend. Everyone is very concerned and, with that in mind, I ask that you give us a little space this afternoon. Thank you." Grabbing her portfolio, she hurried to the door as reporters shouted her name.

Toby turned toward the back stairs, ignoring the few people who tried to waylay him with questions. He followed CJ into her office, closing the door as she grabbed a tissue and wiped away tears.

"This is ridiculous, isn't it?" she asked. "I _know_ they're going to find him. It's just a matter of time, right?"

"Right," he agreed.

"He's a good sailor."

"He is."

"Then what's he doing in the water, Toby? If he's such a good sailor, why isn't he on the damned boat?"

"Because he's Sam. If something calamitous happens, you can count on the fact he's going to be at the center of it."

There was a light tap on the door, and Carol poked her head in. "I'm sorry, but Danny's out here. He'd like a minute."

"Exactly which part of 'give us a little space' did he not understand?"

"Should I tell him —"

Toby shook his head. "I'll talk to him."

Danny leaned against Carol's desk but straightened when Toby appeared, closing the door to CJ's office behind him. "I'm not here as anything other than a friend, okay?"

Toby nodded and waited.

"I wanted you guys to know that you're not the only ones worried about Sam. Speaking for everybody in that room, we are, too."

"Thanks, we appreciate that," Toby said, heading for his own office.

Danny followed him. "How's Josh doing? I figured he'd be tearing up the hallways."

"He's…" he paused, glancing at Danny who raised both hands.

"We're off the record, I swear it."

"He's coordinating with the Coast Guard on the President's behalf."

Danny whistled. "Wow, that's either a stroke of genius or the recipe for disaster."

"Yeah." He stopped and looked at Danny. "I've got to go… do a thing."

"Yeah, so do I." He nodded toward CJ's office. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "Look —"

"I'll give her all the room she needs."

Toby nodded his thanks and cut across the lobby to Communications. Bonnie, and now Ginger, were busy answering the phones. Scowling at Sam's darkened office, he went into his own and shut the door.

Dropping into his desk chair, he rested his head in his hands for a moment. This was, as CJ had said, really happening. He could not shake off the worry and yes, the dread that had been with him since the meeting in Leo's office. He leaned back, his eyes going to the phone. Picking up the receiver, he chose one of the few free lines and punched in a phone number. A man answered before the second ring.

"Rabbi Glassman, this is Toby Ziegler..."

_

* * *

_

Conserve your energy.

The words drifted through Sam's half-conscious mind, and he grabbed onto them. Pain radiated through his head, drowning everything else out. Trying to fight the cold that was sapping his strength, he drew his arms and knees close to his chest. He let his head drop back against the edge of his life jacket and closed his eyes against the sting of salt water.

_Stay awake, Sam! _The words ricocheted around the inside of his skull, and he gasped at the resulting pain.

He tried to sort through his jumbled thoughts, but it was hard to think, to find the information he desperately needed. He had done the drills — both as victim and as crew — too many times to count. There were things he should be doing, to help them find him, to keep himself alive until they did. What were they?

A swell caught him full in the face and, as he choked and coughed, Sam remembered one thing he should do. _Keep your back to breaking waves._ He turned himself so his mouth and nose were clear of the spray. Tucking his arms against his chest, he realized his teeth had stopped chattering. A distant part of him knew it was not a good sign, that his body temperature was dropping; but, without it, the pain in his head had lessened from excruciating to agonizing.

_They know where you went in, and they're looking for you, son._

"Dad? ...tired, Dad."

_I know, but I want you to stay awake._

"Doin' my best."

_You're doing everything right, Sam. When they find you, you can rest._

"Comin' soon?"

_Just hang on a little longer, all right? Just a little longer…_


	4. Chapter 4

Whenever Josh flew aboard Marine One, he enjoyed it. Having a bird's eye view of Washington never ceased to fill him with a sense of awe, even with the President playing tour guide. Today as he flew in the Navy helicopter the President had arranged, he barely saw the city.

"Nervous flyer?" the pilot asked through the headset he had given him to wear.

Josh looked at him, surprised by the question. "No, why?"

The pilot pointed, and he realized he was leaning forward and gripping the edge of his seat. He forced himself to sit back and relax his hold.

"How close will we land?"

"I've got orders to set down right outside the door, sir."

They flew in silence until they reached Chesapeake Bay. Josh looked down at the grey, choppy water and swallowed hard. It looked as cold and rough as the North Atlantic.

"How long can someone survive in that?" he asked.

"This time of year? Depends on the person, but a couple of hours easy. Last year, there was a sailor who lasted twenty-one hours in water a lot colder than that, and he wasn't wearing a PFD. Pays to know what you're doing."

Josh nodded. Sam knew what he was doing. He would last as long as necessary. _C'mon, find him_.

"That's where we're going," the pilot said, pointing ahead.

Made up of a series of one- and two-story buildings, the Coast Guard station sat on the edge of an inlet. An access road ran from the state highway a half mile away through the station and out onto the headland.

They circled around the base, headed toward a landing pad in front of a building in the center of the complex. When the helicopter was on the ground, the pilot began shutting down the engines.

"I thought you were just bringing me out here," Josh said as he took off his headset.

"No, sir. I'm your ride as long as you need me."

"Great." Grabbing his backpack, he stepped down, ducking the slowing blades. A young ensign hurried to meet him. Josh thought he looked as if he had graduated high school the previous June.

"Mr. Lyman? I'm Mark Dickinson. I'll be your escort while you're here."

Josh shook hands, and they started toward the building. "Thank you. Is there any news?"

"They haven't located Mr. Seaborn yet, but there's a cutter on the way to assist in the search."

Josh swallowed a sigh. He had hoped to arrive to good news. "Okay, I'll let the President know."

The ensign had reached for the door handle but stopped. "You're going to call the President? Cool."

Josh liked this kid. It _was_ pretty cool serving the President. "I'm here so all of you can concentrate on finding Sam, instead of worrying that the next phone call will be from President Bartlet."

"Well, he _is_ the Commander-in-Chief —"

Josh shifted his backpack. "Ensign, right now he's just someone who's extremely concerned about a friend."

Dickinson nodded, leading him through a lobby with the national, state and Coast Guard flags prominently displayed. Plaques and framed photographs covered the walls, and Josh slowed down to read some of the citations. For a small station, these men and women did impressive work on a consistent basis.

"Now, _that_," Josh said, pointing back over his shoulder as he hurried to catch up, "is very cool."

"Thank you."

Josh followed him up an open staircase to the second floor and along a corridor lined with doors. The few people they saw moved with purpose, nodding as they passed.

"If you'd like to use this office, Mr. Lyman?" Dickinson asked, opening a door and stepping back. "I'll tell the CO you're here."

"Thanks."

Josh dropped his backpack on the standard government-issue metal desk and looked around. The space was filled almost to capacity by the desk, the matching chair and a four-drawer filing cabinet. His own office was palatial in comparison. He also had windows, something this office lacked.

His cell phone rang, and he looked at the display as he opened it. "Good afternoon, Mr. President."

"Is there news, Josh?"

"I've just arrived so I haven't been briefed, but my escort told me that they've dispatched another boat to help locate Sam." Josh waited as the President relayed the information on to someone else, probably Mrs. Bartlet. "Sir, I was talking to the pilot on the way out here, and he said that people can last for hours, especially if they know what they're doing. Sam's been on the water most of his life. What he doesn't know probably isn't worth the knowing. We just have to believe in him."

"Saying a couple of prayers wouldn't hurt either."

"No, it wouldn't." Ensign Dickinson appeared in the doorway and pointed over his shoulder. Josh nodded as he said, "Sir, I'm on my way to meet with the base's commanding officer. Is there anything you'd like me to ask?"

"No, but tell him I appreciate the effort his people are putting into this, will you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll call you when I've spoken to him."

"We'll be waiting, Josh."

"Yes, Mr. President." Josh closed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "Let's go, Ensign."

They walked to a large open area lined with windows that looked out across the water. People monitored computer screens and spoke quietly into the headsets they wore. Others walked between the stations, occasionally referring to sheets of paper on the clipboards they carried. The sense of purpose in the room was almost palpable, and for the first time since hearing that Sam was missing, Josh felt his worry ease a fraction. Leo was right: these people were professionals; and it was obvious, even to Josh's untrained eyes, they knew exactly what they were doing_._

Ensign Dickinson led him through the maze of people and computers to a man with greying hair. As they approached, he spoke to a petty officer and handed her a folder before turning to Josh.

"Thanks, Mark," he said, dismissing the young man. "I'm Ted McManus."

"Josh Lyman," Josh said, shaking hands with him. "The President asked me to relay his appreciation for all the effort you and your people are putting into this."

"This is what we're trained for. I'm certain we'll find him." He led the way to a small conference room. Closing the door, he asked, "How experienced a sailor is Mr. Seaborn?"

"Sam's sailed for most of his life. His dad taught him to sail as soon as he could walk."

"Good, that's always a help."

"Do you know what happened? How he ended up in the water?"

"Nothing more than I told Mr. McGarry." He led Josh over to the large map covering one wall. "Based on what _The Written Word_ radioed, this is the area we're concentrating on," he said, pointing.

"That's a lot of water," Josh murmured.

"It is. Let me walk you through what we're doing..."


	5. Chapter 5

Curled up in a corner of the deep couch, Abbey heard the murmur of voices coming from the President's study as he received his daily security briefing. She shifted, her thoughts drifting as she remembered a conversation she had had with her husband one snowy night during the primaries.

_"Sam Seaborn is very funny," she told him as they walked to the waiting police cruiser._

_"Which one's he?"_

_Abbey shook her head, exasperated. "The young one."_

_"They're __all__ young."_

And he had been right. They were all young — with the exception of Toby Ziegler who, she was certain, had not had that particular adjective applied to him since the third grade. She had only had to spend one afternoon at campaign headquarters to be swept up in their excitement, their determination to turn the race for the nomination on its ear_._ Josh and Toby had spent hours debating policy and shaping their platform. Watching from across the office, she had been fascinated by the way they challenged each other over everything. Sam had sat on the windowsill, making careful notes on his ever-present legal pad. From time to time, he flipped the page and wrote furiously, frowning slightly as he covered the paper with words.

Toby's muttered "Sam, what have you got?" surprised her. He had written most of the early speeches without help, but Leo had insisted that they needed a second speechwriter. From the little she had heard, Toby had not been pleased with Leo's decision, nor with the news that the newest addition to the writing staff was on his way from New York. Now, two weeks later, he listened as Sam read the paragraph aloud, pausing to cross out the words and phrases which displeased him. Josh studied the floor, one hand tapping the desk beside him as he listened. When Toby asked for the pad and read the paragraph for himself, Josh flashed a grin and a thumbs-up at Sam who smiled slightly before turning his attention to Toby. In the weeks that followed, campaign headquarters had been treated to raised voices and once, a door slam as Sam crafted the stump speech and Toby critiqued it. From the beginning, though, it had not Sam's gifts as a writer, but his absolute belief in her husband that endeared him to Abbey.

"May I bring you more coffee, Mrs. Bartlet?"

She almost dropped the mug she cradled between her hands. There was only a mouthful of coffee in the bottom, but it splashed over the rim, barely lukewarm against her skin. Setting the mug down on the tray, she wiped her hands on a napkin as she stood up.

"No, thank you, Karen. I think that proves I've had enough."

The young steward picked up the tray, her eyes sweeping the room for anything else she might straighten up or remove. "The chef would like to know if it's all right to serve dinner at seven."

"Would you ask him to hold off for now? I let him know when we're ready to eat," Abbey replied, wondering if either of them would have any appetite tonight. She grabbed a piece of wood from the log basket and tossed it onto the small fire burning in the grate.

"Let me do that, ma'am."

Abbey smiled then, glancing back over her shoulder. "I've lived in a house with three working fireplaces my entire married life. I can probably teach you a thing or two about building a fire."

Karen nodded. "Yes, ma'am. If there's anything you'd like, please let me know."

"Thank you." Unable to sit any longer, Abbey pulled on her worn barn coat and went out to the covered porch. She paced the length of it, her hands shoved deep in her pockets. The sky was grey and forbidding, the damp from the intermittent rain clung to the trees and chilled the air. She had hoped the weather forecast would be wrong, and they would have sun this weekend. It was so seldom that they could get away from Washington, just the two of them. She watched one Secret Service agent take over for another standing at the treeline ten yards away. Well, maybe not _just_ the two of them, but even before they had taken office in January, she had learned to screen out the distractions.

Life as the First Lady of New Hampshire had not prepared her for the campaign or the White House. Then she had had the luxury of focusing on her family and her career. She had made public appearances, of course, but now her weekly diary surpassed what she had done in a month at home. Looking back, she realized how spoiled she had been. Having state troopers sitting in cruisers at the foot of the drive or drinking coffee in the kitchen had barely disrupted their home life. Now the Secret Service coordinated and choreographed every move they made.

The screen door opened as she stopped at the far end of the porch. She turned, asking, "Any news?"

The President shook his head as he joined her, leaning a shoulder against one of the wood posts. "I spoke to Leo. Sam's parents are on their way." He looked out at the stand of trees. "God, what a horrible trip to make."

"If it were one of the girls, we'd be on the first plane."

"And we'd be there in under ninety minutes. They're flying across the country, not knowing if their son is alive or —"

"No," she interrupted, "we can't think that way. The Coast Guard is doing everything they can to find Sam, and Josh said they're certain they will. We've got to be just as positive."

"I know." He shifted, his gaze meeting hers. "You know, last week at this time we were playing touch football in the Rose Garden."

"The _Rose Garden_? Good lord, Jed, the gardeners must have had apoplexy."

The President grinned at her, not the slightest bit apologetic. "Aren't you the one who's always insisting I need more exercise? And after the week we'd had, we needed to blow off some steam. Josh had a football so he, Leo and Toby played CJ, Sam and I."

Abbey studied him for a minute. His grin had become a soft smile as he remembered. "What happened?" she prodded.

"I threw a pass to Sam — overthrew it, really. I know we all tease him about being clumsy, but God, Abbey, you should've seen him! He just... _leaped_ up and managed to get a hold of it. It was amazing." He chuckled. "Josh went after him, of course. Tackled him so hard that they slid a couple of feet before they stopped. They just lay there laughing like idiots." His voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath. "That's one of the best moments we've had since we took office."

Abbey smiled. "Those two... Remember the one-on-one basketball games during the campaign? Even Toby got out of the way when they started. They played until they dropped."

"They were both so enthusiastic."

"And there were times when their enthusiasm was the only thing that kept us going."

"You know, today I keep remembering when I couldn't be bothered to know which one was Sam and which one was Josh."

She slipped her arm through his. "You were terrified. They understood."

They stood, looking out over the grounds. The rain had started again. Not the hard, driving rain they had had through the night and into the morning, but a gentle shower that barely disturbed the leaves.

"Jed, have you and Leo discussed how you'll tell Josh if — God forbid — something happens to Sam? I know you're trying to keep him occupied, but I don't want him finding out when he's alone."

"Leo's already talked to the Coast Guard. They'll contact him directly if there's bad news, and he'll bring Josh back to Washington before he tells him. Don't worry, Josh won't be alone."

Abbey nodded, "Good."

"I'm going to ask the chaplain to come up."

"_If they could do nothing else, they could pray,_" she quoted softly.

He turned and drew her into his arms. Closing her eyes, she leaned against him, breathing in the familiar scents of soap and after-shave and coffee. They held onto each other, finding a kind of comfort in their shared worry.

When he finally spoke, the President's voice was no more than a whisper, rough with emotion. "One of our boys is missing, Abbey. Dear God, one of our boys is missing."


	6. Chapter 6

As the flight attendant put their bags into the overhead compartment, David dropped into the seat beside Kate's. They had arrived at the gate with seconds to spare, and if it had not been for the White House calling the airline, he was certain they would not have made it at all. The doors had closed an instant after they had boarded, and the plane was already pulling away from the gate.

Fastening his seatbelt, he took Kate's hand and tried to rub some warmth into it. "We made it. We're on the way," he said, and a smile flickered across her face.

Only two other passengers sat in the first-class cabin. Not surprising for a midday flight on Saturday. A young woman wearing sunglasses sat two rows ahead of them, her attention pointedly fixed on the book in her lap. Across the aisle from her, an older man typed on his laptop, occasionally referring to a folder lying open on the empty seat beside him. He had looked up when Kate and David boarded, nodding to them both before returning to his work.

"Welcome aboard American Airlines Flight 154, Los Angeles to Washington..."

David looked at his watch; trying to gauge how much time had passed since Leo's call. They had hurried upstairs, hoping for a phone call saying the Coast Guard had found Sam and he was fine. From his closet, David had taken the suitcase he kept packed, ready to fly out to any building site with problems that required an architect to solve. He double-checked its contents and added his shaving kit before zipping it closed. Grabbing his shoes, he sat down on the end of the bed to put them on, watching Kate as she rapidly folded clothes and placed them in her overnight bag. Her eyes were bright with tears and her lips trembled, but she did not make a sound as she grabbed the things she thought she might need.

"Do you have room for the sweater Sam left?" she asked. "I was going to send it, but I didn't get around to it."

"Where is it? His room?" David stood up, but she had already gone to get it.

She reappeared a few seconds later, handing it to him. "He loves that sweater. He'll be happy to get it back."

David folded it and tucked it into his bag. "Especially now with fall coming on."

"Especially now." She wiped her eyes. "I need to fix my make-up. It will only take a second."

As she hurried into the bathroom, David put on his watch and looked around the room for anything they might have forgotten. He took the books from their nightstands and tucked them into the front pocket of his suitcase. Picking up the remote, he switched on the television.

The picture of Sam over the reporter's shoulder startled him. A still taken from one of the Sunday shows, he was obviously mid-point, his expression determined as he pointed at something out of the camera shot. _Probably his opponent,_ David mused.

"...The Coast Guard continues searching this hour for Sam Seaborn, senior advisor to the President. Seaborn was reported missing after a squall..."

Kate appeared in the doorway, her make-up done and her hair neat. She sank down next to him, her focus on the screen as she reached for his hand. "I didn't know they would announce it."

"It gives them control over the story."

She shook her head. "Poor CJ. What an awful responsibility."

When the phone on his nightstand rang, David lowered the TV's sound, unable to look away from the picture of his son. "Hello?"

"David, it's Liam. Barb and I were just watching the news. My god, man, why didn't you call? What can we do to help?"

"Who is it?" Kate whispered.

When he mouthed Liam's name, she nodded and returned to her packing.

"I was about to call you," David assured his partner. "We're going to Washington. I'll be out of the office for a few days."

"I'll drive you to the airport."

"You don't —"

"David, for God's sake, let me do this! We're in the car, and I'll be in your driveway in five minutes. Hold on, Barb is saying something." There was a brief conversation before he came back on the line. "She wants a list of things you need done, and she'll take care of them."

The Callahans and the Seaborns had been close friends since David and Liam had started working for the same architectural firm almost thirty years before. Childless themselves, Liam and Barbara had watched Sam grow up with the pride and affection of an uncle and aunt.

"Thank you," David breathed. "Thank you both."

"Five minutes, laddy," Liam repeated before he disconnected the call.

"They're on their way over," David told Kate as he set the phone in its cradle. "Liam's taking us to the airport, and Barb will handle everything else if we give her a list."

"I'll —"

The ring of David's cell phone stopped them both. David pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. The White House.

"Answer it," Kate commanded softly as she came to stand beside him.

Clearing his throat, he hit the button and said, "David Seaborn."

"Mr. Seaborn, this is Margaret in Leo McGarry's office. I have your flight information."

Meeting Kate's anxious eyes, David shook his head. "Go ahead, Margaret..."

As they finished packing, they heard the front door open. Turning off the television, David picked up their suitcases. Kate hesitated and then took her prayer book from the drawer of her nightstand. They walked downstairs together, meeting Barbara in the hall. She hugged them fiercely.

"The mad Irishman is waiting in the car. Just tell me who I should call."

Kate went into the kitchen and pulled a pad and pencil from the drawer. Scribbling a couple of names, she handed it to Barbara. "I think that's all of them."

"If there are any more, just call."

The phone began ringing, and David took a step toward it. As he reached for the receiver, he read the caller ID: _KCAL NEWS._

"It's started," he muttered.

"Go!" Barbara ordered. "There's no reason to answer that." She pushed them toward the front door. "It's been a couple of years since I was a receptionist, but now seems like a great time to brush up my skills."

Liam waited beside the car, the trunk and the passenger doors open. As Barbara hugged them good-bye, he took the bags and stowed them in the trunk.

"You tell that son of yours that he's not doing my heart any good with these antics," Barbara instructed David, her voice rough with worry.

"I will."

She waved as they backed down the driveway, striding purposefully toward the house as they drove away. A news van passed them before they reached the corner. It slowed to a stop in front of their house.

"Should we call the police?" Kate asked from the back seat.

"Barb'll have that well in hand," Liam assured her as a second van drove by. "And if she doesn't, I'm sure your neighbors will."

David doubted he would ever forget the trip to LAX. Sam had once charitably (in his father's opinion, at least) described Liam as a 'mercurial' driver, but this was, hands down, the most harrowing ride David had ever endured. They shot up the 405 at thirty miles an hour over the speed limit. The Saturday traffic was light, but Liam switched lanes constantly, buying them precious minutes.

They had stopped in front of the terminal with a screech of brakes, no doubt leaving some tire tread on the pavement. David had unlatched his seat belt as Liam threw the car into park and jumped from the driver's seat. Before he and Kate were out of the car, Liam had their bags on the sidewalk.

"You'll call the minute you hear something, right?" he had asked, hugging Kate tightly. "No matter what the time."

"The minute."

He had hugged David as well — a brief, hard farewell. "God go with you, laddy. Give our love to that boy of yours."

"Excuse me, Mr. Seaborn. Would you or Mrs. Seaborn like something to drink?"

David blinked before registering the young man who had taken care of their bags. "Yes, I think we would." He turned to Kate. "Coffee, sweetheart?"

She turned from the window. "Scotch."

"Yes, ma'am."

David nodded. "I'll have the same. It's been a hell of a day."

"Yes, sir." The attendant started to turn away, but then stopped. "On behalf of the crew, may I just say that our prayers are with you and your son? If there's anything we can do to make your flight easier, please let me know."

"Fly faster," Kate whispered. "Just fly faster."

* * *

A wave slapped Sam across the face, and he choked as he inhaled part of it. The water had grown rough and wild, and the sky darker as another storm rolled in. The wind had strengthened, catching the edges of the dark waves and turning them yellowish white.

Sam bobbed from the bottom of one deep trough to the top of another, unable to control where the water took him. His arms and legs were stiff with cold, and he had lost all feeling in his feet. He looked down at his fists, tucked tight against his chest. In the dim light, they were an unearthly white — almost blue.

"...not good," he mumbled.

_Hang on, Sam._

"...been..." He choked on another wave, coughing so hard that he saw stars in front of his eyes. "...hours."

_Not much longer now, son._

Lightning flashed nearby, and pain shot through his head. He closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from agony.

_Sam! _His father's voice bristled with annoyance. _Don't give up._

"Not..."

_Keep talking. It will help you stay awake._

Sam struggled, his thoughts foggy and the headache growing worse. "'bout what?"

His father's laugh was gentle. _I've never heard you say that._

"Cold... Can't think."

The rain pounded down, hitting him with such force that he wondered if it was hail. The lightning flashed again, closer this time. The wind and rain combined, obliterating any sound of thunder. Battered by the waves, Sam fought for whatever air he could drag in. He had lost sight of everything except the will to survive. The lightning was almost on top of him, and he squeezed his eyes closed against it. There was no up or down any more, there were simply walls of water beating against him.

He heard his father's voice amidst the maelstrom, shouting encouragement, exhorting him to fight.

_They're coming, son, they're coming._

He gasped for air, his lungs fighting to empty themselves of water.

_Hang on, Sam!_

The waves pulled him under and held him there. His chest hurt, and he struggled not to inhale. An instant later, he popped through the surface, gasping and choking. The lightning was all around him, the flashes blinding him. The roar of wind and rain deafened him.

He had only enough strength left to fight for air. He battled for just one more breath before the waves pushed him down again.

_Sa_...m, stay with us!"


	7. Chapter 7

On Friday morning, Josh had found Sam in the Mess, finishing what appeared to be a late breakfast as he read the op/ed page of the _New York Times_ and made notes on a pad. Dropping into the chair opposite, he grabbed the piece of rye toast Sam had not eaten and took a bite.

"Hey, what do you say we get together tomorrow and —"

Sam's head snapped up. "Tomorrow? I'm going sailing tomorrow. You know that."

"But it's going to rain!"

"And?"

"You're still going if it rains?"

Leaning back in his chair, Sam picked up his coffee mug and cradled it between his hands. "One way or the other, we're going to get wet, Josh. Chesapeake Bay is not exactly the Sahara."

"And that's fun?"

"Yeah, it is." He took a swallow of coffee. "I haven't been able to get out on the water at all this summer so I'm really looking forward to this weekend."

"Rain and all."

Sam had smiled at the disbelief in Josh's voice. "Rain and all."

Now, standing alone in the empty lobby, Josh watched the rain lash against the windows. The lights along the sidewalks flickered on, and an alarm went off as a gust of wind pulled open a door on a building nearby. In the time it had taken Ensign Dickinson to give him a tour of the command center, the sky had changed from light grey to almost black, and the wind had strengthened.

"That won't stop them, Mr. Lyman," Dickinson had assured him when he realized Josh's attention was on the growing storm. "It's making things more difficult right now, but the _Vigilance_ and the _South Carolina_ are still searching for Mr. Seaborn."

Under other circumstances, he would have found it fascinating to watch the storm come off the Chesapeake, but now it merely intensified his fears for Sam. Without any training in Search and Rescue, he had realized the level of concern in the command center had risen as they tracked the path of the storm. Finally, he had escaped downstairs, needing a minute to himself.

Josh glanced at his watch. Time to update the President. Pulling the cell phone from his pocket, he pressed 'redial'.

The President answered before the end of the first ring. "Josh, any news? I just spoke to Leo, and he said the weather's pretty bad out there."

"No news, sir. The two cutters are still looking for him, but the storm is slowing them down." A sudden gust of wind drove the rain against the glass, and Josh flinched. "It's bad here, sir. I can't imagine what it's like out on the bay."

There was silence then, a worried silence which grew longer with each phone call. Walking across the lobby, Josh studied the awards on the walls.

"Mr. President, these people know what they're doing. I've met some of them, and I'm blown away by their commitment. They —"

"Mr. Lyman?" Dickinson shouted from the top of the stairs.

"What is it?" the President demanded.

"Hold on, sir." Josh tilted the phone away. "I'm down here, Ensign."

"Commander McManus asked me to get you, sir."

Josh started up the stairs at a run. "Mr. President, something's going on. I'll call you when I have find out what it is."

He snapped his phone closed as he reached the top. He followed Dickinson through the maze of stations, nearly knocking down a petty officer in his haste. Calling an apology over his shoulder, he hurried on.

McManus stood at the station that was monitoring the radio communications between the cutters and the yacht Sam had been on. "Josh, I think you'll want to hear this."

"What's going on?"

"The _Vigilance_ sighted something, and they're going to take a closer look."

"Is it Sam?"

"They're hoping it is." McManus nodded to the Operations Specialist who turned up the volume.

Josh listened intently, trying to understand what they said. He recognized a word here and there, but the two cutters spoke in some kind of Coast Guard shorthand.

"They've reduced speed," Dickinson told him quietly. "If it _is _Mr. Seaborn, they don't want to run him over."

"That's a possibility?" He winced as his voice rose to a squeak.

"Not if they take it slow. You've got to remember the water's really rough."

Josh nodded, gripping the edge of the station with both hands. His eyes went to the windows, trying to see through the water streaming down the glass to the sky beyond. Had it grown lighter, or was it merely wishful thinking on his part?

_"Boat in the water."_

_"Roger that, Vigilance."_

"The _Vigilance _has gotten as close as she can so the skipper's deployed the cutter boat. It's a RHIB — rigid hull inflatable boat," Dickinson explained quickly when he realized Josh had no idea what he meant. "You know, like a Zodiac."

A specialist at a nearby station reported, "Helicopter's ready, sir."

"Tell them to stand by."

"Yes, sir."

Josh took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. As he waited for the next transmission, he looked around the command center, seeing everyone thoroughly focused on their duties.

_"Boat has recovered the COB. Repeat: boat has recovered the COB."_

A ripple of reaction ran through the room, and a few people exchanged high five's.

"Yes!" Josh whispered.

"I want that chopper in the air _now_," McManus called over his shoulder as he shook hands with Josh and Ensign Dickinson.

Josh turned to Dickinson. "How long before we know how he is?"

"Any second now," Dickinson assured him.

_"Command, requesting Medevac."_

_"Helicopter is in the air, Vigilance."_

_"Roger that."_

Josh gripped the edge of the station, his knees threatening to give out. As the _Vigilance_ contacted the pilot of the helicopter with a string of coordinates, Dickinson grabbed a chair and pushed him into it.

"You all right?"

Josh nodded, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"They've decided to rendezvous, instead of dropping a basket. It's still pretty nasty out there," Dickinson reported. Glancing around, he found a map and pointed to a spot. "They're meeting here. From there, it's about eight minutes to Shenandoah Trauma."

"How do they know he needs a hospital? Do they have a medic or something?"

McManus keyed his microphone. "_Vigilance_, what is COB's condition?"

_"Semi-conscious with head trauma, Command."_

"'Head trauma'?" Josh whispered. "Like a concussion, right?"

"Could be," McManus agreed. "The cutter's crew is trained in basic first-aid, Josh; and right now, their focus is getting Sam ready to transfer. We'll know more once the chopper has him."

"I should call the President, and let him know. How long do I have?"

"It will be about twenty minutes before they rendezvous," McManus told him.

Half stumbling, he made his way to his borrowed office. Closing the door, he dropped into the desk chair and rested his forehead against his palm. Flipping open his phone, he hit 'redial'.

Before he could say a word, the President announced, "Josh, Abbey's here with me so I'm putting you on speaker."

"Yes, sir."

He closed his eyes and waited as, after two _damn it's, _President accomplished the task — no doubt helped by the First Lady.

"Okay, Josh. We're both here."

"Sir, ma'am, they..." His throat closed as the news hit him. They found him, and he was alive. Sam had survived.

Abbey Bartlet's voice carried over the line, her concern evident. "Josh, what is it?"

He cleared his throat and wiped the tears in his eyes on his cuff. "They've got him, ma'am. They found Sam."

"Thank God," the President murmured as Abbey asked, "How is he?"

"He's semi-conscious, and they mentioned head trauma. We'll know more when he's transferred to the helicopter."

"They're Medevac'ing him?"

"Yes, ma'am. They're taking him to Shenandoah Trauma Center. He should be there in half an hour."

The President cut through his wife's next question. "Thank everyone for me, Josh. I'm — we're all so grateful to them. And tell Commander McManus to expect a call from me later. I want to thank him personally for coordinating this."

"Yes, Mr. President. Ma'am, I'll call you when I get to the hospital."

"See that you do, Joshua."

Closing his phone, he leaned back in the chair and stared up at the acoustical ceiling tiles. From the moment Leo had told them Sam was missing, he had refused to consider what losing him would mean. He had shied away from the thought that, come Monday, he would not drop by Sam's office and hear about his weekend. That Sam would not arrive ten minutes late for Senior Staff with Cathy trailing after him carrying the things he should have taken with him. That all the things that made up life in the West Wing would change — some profoundly — without Sam.

Josh reached for his backpack and jacket, both still lying on the desk where he had dropped them. As soon as they transferred Sam to the helicopter, he would be on his way. As relieved as he was, he would not be content until he saw him for himself.

* * *

AN: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. It seemed like everything conspired against me. I couldn't find the time to write, and when I did, Josh wouldn't cooperate. A quick note: I did a lot of research on Coast Guard rescues and hope this lives up to the incredible work these people do. I've had to create the command center end of the operation so if there's anything wrong with it, blame my imagination.


	8. Chapter 8

CJ glanced around the Briefing Room as the Coast Guard spokesperson calmly answered the reporters' barrage of questions. After introducing Captain Lemanski, she had stepped back, ready to restore order if things got out of hand. Experience had taught her not to leave four-star generals facing the press corps alone. After ten minutes, though, she was certain the Captain either had extensive combat training or herded cats in her free time.

"I'll stay with her," Carol whispered. "Get out of here for a while."

CJ slipped out of the room, stopping to leave her portfolio on her desk before heading for the Communications bullpen. Ginger looked up as she walked in, her face tight with worry.

"Any news?"

CJ shook her head. "Nothing. Has anyone spoken to Cathy?"

"Toby's on the phone with her now. She's in upstate New York for her cousin's wedding and saw it on TV. She wants to come back, but I think he's telling her to stay put until we hear something more."

CJ nodded. "I wouldn't want to be Sam when she gets a hold of him."

"No kidding." The phone rang on Ginger's desk, and she reached for it. "Communications..."

CJ knocked softly on Toby's door before letting herself in. He was still on the phone, his forehead resting against his hand and his eyes closed.

"...As soon as we hear something...Right...Okay." He hung up and leaned back in his chair. "That was Cathy."

"Ginger told me," CJ replied, dropping onto the sofa. "How's she doing?"

"About as well as the rest of us." He picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. "Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing. I'm trying to convince myself that no news is good news."

"It means they're still looking for him." Toby pointed at the television where the press conference was breaking up. "She's very good."

CJ nodded. "She's got more poise than a couple of generals I could mention. I was thinking of luring her over to the dark side."

"As one of your deputies?"

"Yeah. Think I have a shot?"

Toby studied the screen for a minute. "Yeah, if you give it ten years or so. If she's career, that's about when she'll be eligible for retirement."

CJ sighed. "Yeah, that's what I figured."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the phones ringing in the bullpen. Bonnie and Ginger's voices were quiet and professional as they answered each call, steadfastly refusing to put calls through to Toby.

"Should I get someone over here to cover the phones for a while?" CJ asked. "They might need a break."

Toby shrugged. "I've already suggested that, and they said no. If you want to try..." He gestured toward the bullpen.

CJ stood up and walked to Bonnie's desk. She sounded calm and collected as she spoke to one caller, but as soon as she hung up, she reached for a fresh Kleenex and wiped her eyes.

"How about taking a break?" CJ asked. "I'll get a couple of people to cover the phones."

Bonnie looked at Ginger who nodded. "Yeah, that would be great."

CJ turned to an empty desk and dialed Carol's extension. "Could you find two or three people to cover the phones over here?"

"They'll be right over," Carol promised.

"You should think about taking a break as well," CJ suggested.

"I was, actually."

Within five minutes, the replacements were fielding calls and taking messages as the senior assistants slipped out. A moment after they left, Donna flew by the door, also on her way to the Mess.

Toby had watched them go from the doorway of his office. He did not acknowledge the people on the phone, but CJ saw them all tense as his dark eyes ran over them.

"I'm going to check in with Leo. See if he's heard anything."

Toby simply nodded and followed her into the hallway. Everyone they passed, from interns to secret service agents, looked at them, obviously judging the news — or lack of it — from the expressions on their faces. CJ wondered if it was her imagination, but there seemed to be more people in the building than there had been when she had arrived.

"They've heard the news about Sam," Toby said, answering the question she had not voiced. "A few of them are here so they don't miss any of the excitement. They want to be the first ones with the news." He glared at two staffers who stood to one side, gossiping in animated whispers. They both paled and scurried in opposite directions. He watched them go, and CJ knew he would not forget who they were.

"Most of them, though," he continued, "have come in because they want to help. In the last two hours, we've had calls from almost every department in this building volunteering to do anything we need."

Margaret was on the phone when they walked into her office. "...Gate B73." As she jotted a note on her pad, she nodded them toward Leo's door.

CJ glanced at Toby whose frown had deepened. "Sam's parents?"

"Yeah."

Leo looked up as they walked in, pushing his chair away from his desk. He looked tired and grim, and CJ felt a cold rush of fear down her spine.

"H-has something happened?" she asked in a whisper.

"The weather's gotten worse in the last hour, and it's slowed them down."

"But they're still looking?"

"Yeah."

CJ sat down in the chair opposite his as Toby walked to the window and looked out. None of them spoke, and she tried to remember if they had ever shared a silence so heavy with worry. Even during the worst moments of the campaign, there were numbers to report and strategies to discuss. Now it was out of their hands, and all they could do was wait.

Margaret appeared in the doorway. "It's the President," she announced, pointing toward the phone where one line blinked steadily. "He asked if Toby and CJ were here with you. He wants to speak to all of you."

They looked at each other and then at the phone. As Leo picked up the receiver, CJ gripped the arms of her chair.

"Hello, Mr. President...Yes, sir." He hit a button and hung up the handset.

The President's voice came clearly through the speaker. "CJ? Toby?"

"We're here, sir," CJ answered.

"Good. We just had a call from Josh." The President paused, and CJ found herself leaning toward the phone. "They've found Sam!"

CJ watched a grin spread across Leo's face and realized she was smiling, too.

"He made it," Leo murmured as he tried the words out. His voice grew stronger. "Damn it, the kid made it!"

"Is he all right?" Toby demanded, gripping the edge of Leo's desk.

"He was semi-conscious when they pulled him out of the water, and they mentioned head trauma. He's being taken by helicopter to a trauma center in Virginia. Hold on..." There was a pause, and they heard the President talking to someone. "Abbey says it may be just a precaution. We'll have to wait to hear more from Josh."

Toby looked at CJ, and she watched the deep worry in his eyes dissolve into something like tempered hope. "He's alive."

And then the three of them were hugging each other. CJ could not speak around the lump in her throat. The relief was overwhelming after the worry and dread of the past hours.

"Margaret!" Leo yelled, his voice rough with emotion. When she appeared in the doorway, clutching her pad, he said, "Sam's alive. The Coast Guard just picked him up. Get word to the Seaborns, will ya?"

"He's all right?"

"They're taking him to the hospital right now. Get me Commander McManus," Leo turned to CJ and Toby. "We've all got work to do, right?"

CJ glanced at the television. The briefing had ended, but she doubted the press would mind being called back so soon.

As they left Leo's office, Toby turned toward the Mess with CJ a step behind him. The reporters could wait until they told the good news to the people who knew Sam and had worried and prayed for him all afternoon.

* * *

"Sir? Sir?"

David started, his thoughts focused on his son as he tried to picture what Sam was going through. Blinking, he turned to the flight attendant as he felt Kate grip his forearm.

"Yes?"

"The cockpit just received a message from White House Communications."

David put his arm around Kate, trying to shield her. He could not take his eyes off the young man who had been so kind to them throughout the flight.

"They've found your son, and he's alive."

"He's alive," Kate whispered.

"Yes, ma'am."

David gathered Kate against him, feeling her shake with sobs. "Thank you," he managed to say.

The flight attendant left them alone then, moving away to the galley where he could continue keeping an eye on them as he had since they had left LAX. David hugged Kate tighter as they both cried, his tears falling onto her dark hair.

"Sam's a fighter, darling. Always has been."

"I know, that's what I kept telling myself, but —" Her sobs grew. "— I was so frightened."

"So was I, Katie, so was I."


	9. Chapter 9

Everything — shoulders, arms, legs, back, torso, but most of all, his head — hurt. But strapped securely to a backboard with a cervical collar around his neck, there was little Sam could do to ease the pain. He had tried to sleep, to drift away from the roar of engines and the voices around him, but each time he did, someone chose that moment to shout at him. _Stay with us, Sam! Can you wiggle your toes for me? I'm starting an IV so you're gonna feel a pinch._

It had been a relief when the helicopter landed, and they transferred him onto a gurney. The voices were just as loud, but the pounding of the helicopter blades had finally stopped.

"Come on, Sam! Stay awake!" a woman ordered.

He swallowed hard against the nausea that rose in his throat. He had already thrown up what seemed like most of the Chesapeake Bay, but his stomach was still protesting the motion of the boats and the helicopter. He wanted quiet and sleep, but this woman had other plans.

"All right, on my count. One... two... three!"

Strong hands slid him from the gurney to an exam table in one swift movement, but it was enough. The nausea won.

"Roll him!"

He retched until he shook with dry heaves, sharp pains radiating through his skull. When he finished, they turned him onto his back again. The woman — a doctor, he was now sure — started shouting orders as she pried open Sam's eyes and shone a light into them. He winced, but the cervical collar stopped him from pulling away.

"Don't fight us, Sam," a man on his right said, his volume equal to the doctor's. "We've got to check you out."

"P-please don't yell. Head hurts."

"I'll make you a deal. If you stay awake, we won't yell, okay?"

"'kay."

He listened to them calling out a litany of numbers — pulse, blood pressure, respirations — as his cold, wet clothes were cut away, and he was wrapped in a heated blanket. As his body warmed, his teeth began chattering and the pain in his head became unbearable. He tried to pull his hand free of the backboard's straps, hoping to prevent his skull from flying into pieces.

"Sam, I'm Dr. Donoghue. Can you tell me what day it is?" the doctor asked, taking hold of his hand and keeping it still. She had lowered her voice, but it still reverberated in his head.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth in a sharp hiss. "Saturday... the eleventh?"

"It's the twelfth, but close enough. What happened to you?"

"H-head hurts."

"How did you hurt your head?"

Sam searched his memory, but found little beyond the hours he had spent in the water. "Don't know...can't remember."

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

He thought. "Coffee?"

"Is that a guess?"

"Yeah..." he admitted.

"Can you remember what you ate for dinner last night?"

His queasiness increased with just the thought of food, and he swallowed hard. "No."

"Still nauseous?"

"A little."

"How about I give you something for that as well as the headache?"

"Yeah."

She ordered something added to his IV and a moment later, the nausea eased a little although his head still ached.

A nurse leaned in the door to report, "Doctor, Radiology is ready."

Dr. Donoghue nodded. "Sam, we're going to send you down for a CT scan." She put her hand on his shoulder. "You took a pretty good whack, and I want to make sure I know what's going on with you."

"Head hurts," he reminded her as they transferred him back to the gurney.

She walked beside him for a few steps, her hand on his shoulder. "It'll get better, Sam, I promise. Just relax and let the meds work, all right?."

He closed his eyes as the ceiling lights flashed by overhead. The PCTs talked quietly as they waited for the elevator — something about baseball but Sam was too tired to follow their conversation. He closed his eyes again and let himself drift away.

* * *

"There it is," the pilot said, pointing at the brick building tucked in amongst the trees.

Josh nodded, tightening his grip on his backpack. He had already checked twice to make sure he had the envelope Sam had given him. His stomach flipped as the pilot took a wide swing around the hospital. An orange and white Coast Guard helicopter sat on the single helicopter pad, its blades still.

"They're already here?"

The pilot nodded, looking for a place nearby to land. The only open spot Josh saw was the roof, and he was not sure how hospital officials would feel about them using it uninvited.

"I'm going to set down over there," the pilot announced.

They headed for the far end of the parking lot that ran parallel with the trauma center. As soon as the skids touched the pavement, Josh unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the door.

"I'm good from here. Why don't you head back to Washington?" he yelled.

The pilot nodded, his attention on a rapidly approaching SUV with _Shenandoah Trauma Security_ on the door. "You sure you don't want me to wait?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks for the ride."

He slammed the door closed and stepped back; the downdraft from the blades pulling at his clothes and hair as the pilot waved and lifted off. The SUV screeched to a halt ten feet away, and a short, dark-haired man wearing a white shirt with shoulder patches scrambled out. Josh was certain that, if he had had a gun, he would have had it drawn.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

Josh shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "We needed a place to land."

"We have a helicopter pad for that!"

"It's in use, or haven't you noticed?" He swung his backpack onto his shoulder. "I'm Josh Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff; and I'm here representing the President."

The guard stared at him. "Of the United States?"

"One of his senior advisers was just brought in to your emergency room."

"Get in the truck, Mr. Lyman. I'll take you right over there."

Josh barely closed the door before the guard threw the SUV into gear. They roared through the parking lot and along the access road, taking corners without slowing. In moments, they arrived at the emergency room. With a quick word of thanks, Josh hurried inside.

The waiting room was almost empty as he crossed it. An elderly couple sat in the chairs near the windows, holding hands and talking quietly as they waited. A little boy played with a truck at their feet.

Two men sat at the long desk, talking quietly as they worked. One looked up as Josh walked up.

"May I help you?"

"The Coast Guard just brought in —" Josh started.

"Seaborn?" the clerk asked, checking the screen in front of him.

"Yes, Sam Seaborn. How is he?"

"The doctor's with him right now." Grabbing a clipboard from the rack at the end of the desk, he handed it to Josh. "Please have a seat and fill out these forms as completely as you can."

Josh took the clipboard and headed toward a row of chairs. Pulling out Sam's envelope, he slid his finger under the lip and tore it open. Inside Sam had assembled all his information in order of importance from copies of his insurance cards and contact information for his doctor and his parents to a copy of his living will. Josh shuddered and shoved that into his backpack.

He completed the forms, checked them and then returned the clipboard to the desk, his business card on top. The clerk read it, his eyebrows rising to his hairline. Almost stuttering, he promised to tell the doctor Josh was waiting.

_I don't care about the doctor, just tell Sam._

Wandering around the waiting area, he picked up magazines and paged through them with little interest before putting them down again. He wanted to call someone, just to hear a familiar voice, but there were signs everywhere forbidding the use of cell phones. He considered stepping outside, but the doctor might come out, and he did not want to miss any news of Sam. Instead, he continued drifting around the room, keeping an eye on the doors to the treatment area.

A doctor came out and spoke to the couple who had been waiting. The woman began crying as the man thanked the doctor over and over, his English faltering but sincere. The doctor shook hands with them both before disappearing into the treatment area.

Almost half an hour passed before a woman with wildly curling brown hair and wearing a lab coat over blue scrubs crossed the lobby to him and held out her hand. "Mr. Lyman, I'm Meg Donoghue. I'm in charge of Sam's care."

Josh shook hands with her. Her hazel eyes were sharp and confident, and she looked efficient and professional in the same way that the First Lady did. Most days that would scare him to death, but today it was reassuring. "How is he?"

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, she put her hands in her pockets. "He's got a concussion, and I sent him to Radiology for a CT scan to make sure there's nothing more to worry about."

"Such as?"

"A skull fracture."

"That's a possibility?" Josh demanded.

"It's a _possibility_," she told him. "The fact we don't know if he lost consciousness worries me. And, in addition to the head wound —"

"Wait, the what?"

She touched her forehead near the hairline above her left eye. "He took a pretty good shot right here. And there's bruising under both eyes. It could be the way he hit the water, it could be an indication of something more serious."

"What does Sam say?"

"He doesn't remember. He's suffering from post-traumatic amnesia — which isn't uncommon in a case like this. I expect it will resolve itself in a couple of hours."

Josh nodded. "When can I see him?"

"We're waiting for Radiology to finish so it may be a while. You've got time to get yourself a cup of coffee." She turned away and then stopped. "He's very polite, isn't he?"

Josh nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"When we were examining him, he asked us all to please stop shouting. Patients usually don't do that, at least not that courteously." Her pager went off, and she read the message. "I'm sorry. I've got to go. Someone will be out to get you as soon as possible."

As she hurried through the swinging doors, Josh pulled out his cell phone. Walking outside, he dialed the President's number and waited for it to ring.

"Sir, I've got an update for you..."


	10. Chapter 10

Josh sat on a low wall outside the Emergency Department, grateful for the overhang protecting him from the light rain. He had called the President and then the White House. With no new details to report, the conversation with Leo had been short, the one with Toby even shorter. He had tried calling Donna, but there was no answer so he had taken a moment to find the cafeteria and buy a cup of coffee. Sipping that, he leaned against the building and watched with interest as an ambulance roared in, lights flashing but the siren off. As soon as it stopped, the rear doors flew open and an EMT jumped to the ground, waiting only long enough for his partner to appear before yanking out the gurney. Josh caught a glimpse of an old man, his face covered by an oxygen mask, before they disappeared inside.

As the automatic doors slid closed, he realized his phone was ringing. Digging it out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID and smiled.

"Hi, Mom."

His mother's words came in a rush, and he heard the sound of rapidly changing television stations in the background. "Josh, I just got home and found your message. How's Sam?"

"I'm waiting to hear now. The doctor said he has a concussion, and she's waiting for some test results."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, not yet."

"How could this happen?" Mrs. Lyman demanded. "It's such a beautiful day!"

Josh looked up at the grey sky. "Not here, Mom. It's been raining most of the day."

"And he went sailing in weather like that?"

"Well, he was going to get wet anyway —"

"Have you spoken to Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn?" she asked. "The news is showing their house right now. Why can't they leave them alone? Whatever happened to common decency?"

"It's all right, Mom, they're on their way here."

"The very idea, though," his mother fumed. "It's the national news! What can they possibly think showing a house adds to the story?"

Josh sighed. "They think it adds color."

"Well, it doesn't!" She snapped out each word.

"I know, Mom, I know."

"How are you doing, dear?" she asked after a quiet moment.

"I'm okay — a lot better than I was when I called before." He rubbed his eyes. "Mom, I never want to go through anything like this again. If the President hadn't thought of something for me to do, I would've lost my mind waiting for news."

"It's dreadful when there's nothing to do but wait," she agreed. "And you've never been the most patient of souls, dear."

Josh thought of the moment Leo had told them the news. He never wanted to feel that helpless ever again. And if that meant Sam never stepped foot on a boat again, that was perfectly fine with him.

"Excuse me. Are you Mr. Lyman?" a nurse called from the door of the Emergency Department.

Josh nodded and held up a finger. "Mom, I've gotta go."

"All right, dear. Call me later if you have the chance, and give my best to Sam and his parents."

"I will. Love you, Mom." As he hung up, Josh turned off his cell phone and put it into his jacket pocket. Picking up his backpack and his coffee, he hurried toward the entrance.

"Dr. Donoghue was called away, but she asked me to take you in to see Sam."

"How is he?" Josh asked as he followed her.

"The doctor will give you all the details, but she's really pleased with him, everything looks good. The respiratory therapist just finished evaluating him, and now we're waiting for a room on the telemetry floor. It shouldn't be long, though." She stopped by the half-open door of a darkened treatment room. "He's a little sensitive to light so we're keeping the lights off in here," she explained, stepping back.

Josh nodded his thanks as he passed her, his attention focused solely on Sam. For the last ninety minutes, he had thought of nothing but what Dr. Donoghue had told him, but neither her words nor his imagination had prepared him for the sight of his best friend. Dropping his things on the counter, he moved to stand beside the gurney. The back had been raised so Sam was sitting almost bolt upright. He was ashen, his lips colorless and his skin pale, almost translucent, under two days' growth of beard. His hair had dried, leaving tufts of it standing on end.

Reaching under the blankets, Josh gripped his wrist, almost recoiling from the chill of his skin. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "God, Sam. You look like hell."

Sam's eyes opened no more than a crack. "Josh?" he mumbled, his voice rough.

He forced a smile. "How you doin', buddy?"

"Head hurts."

"I'll bet it does. You hit it pretty good."

Sam frowned as he tried to find a comfortable position. "Hmmm..."

Josh waited until he settled and then tucked the blankets back into place. "Better?"

"Tired."

"Why don't you rest for a while?"

When he thought Sam was asleep, he rolled a stool beside the gurney and sat down, resting his hand on Sam's forearm. He studied the bruising under Sam's eyes and the bandage covering the stitches on his forehead. He looked battered and exhausted, but, Josh reminded himself, it could have been so much worse.

"Josh?" Sam mumbled after a moment, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Right here."

"You okay?"

Josh grinned for the first time in hours. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Shouldn't 've tackled me," Sam complained, shifting on the gurney. "Wasn't fair."

Josh smoothed the blankets with his free hand. "That was last week, remember?"

Dark eyebrows rose, and Sam winced as the stitches pulled. "Last week?" he asked, one hand fumbling towards his forehead.

Taking hold of it, Josh tucked it back under the blankets. "Yeah. We played football in the Rose Garden last Saturday."

Sam frowned as he grappled with that, but after a moment, a smile ghosted across his mouth. "...beat you."

"Yeah, you beat us. Toby's already talking about a rematch."

"Now?"

Josh shook his head. "Nah, we're going to stay here for a while, so you just rest, okay?"

Sam dozed off then, his breathing easing and his face less strained. Josh sat quietly, content to keep watch over him. Outside the door, people came and went, but it was calmer than he had expected an emergency room to be on a Saturday. Occasionally someone looked in on Sam or offered Josh coffee, but, for the most part, they left them alone. Never releasing his hold on Sam's arm, Josh slowly let go of all the fears and anxieties of the past few hours. It was so much easier to do with Sam — pale, battered and exhausted, though he was — here beside him than it had been forty feet down the hall on the other side of the emergency room doors.


	11. Chapter 11

"Ready?" Carol asked as CJ came out of her office.

She nodded, smoothing the shoulders of her jacket. "Do they know?"

Carol shook her head as she followed her to the briefing room. "It hasn't leaked. Hasn't had the chance."

CJ smiled, something she had been unable to stop doing since the President's call. Every once in a while, they managed to steal a march on the White House Press Corps, and it was always an incredible rush when they did. Today, though... Today she had every right to feel she should be the one making this announcement.

When they reached the door, Carol slipped by her. "I'll see if we're ready to go."

"Ma'am?"

CJ turned, surprised to see Captain Lemanski standing at attention. "Call me CJ. And you're...?"

The Captain relaxed a bit. "Julia."

"Have you been briefed on the rescue?"

"Yes, ma—" She blushed. "I just got off the phone." She opened her pad cover and pulled out some neatly written sheets, offering them to CJ.

"No, you hang onto those. This is how we'll handle it: I'll start with my statement and answer the questions I can, then hand them over to you for the more detailed stuff."

Julia looked from her notes to CJ and back. "I thought you'd want —"

The door to the briefing room opened, and Carol poked her head out. "They're ready, boss."

CJ nodded to her but spoke to Julia. "No, the Coast Guard should get all the credit for this. The President, the Chief of Staff, _all_ of us here at the White House are grateful that you found Sam." She swallowed the tears that threatened for an instant. "And if you ever decide to leave the Coast Guard, call me. You did a hell of a job today."

"Th-thank you, ma'am!"

"Okay, let's do this thing."

She strode into the room, aware of the quiet. On a normal day, there was usually chatter until she began talking. Today, she felt the reporters holding their breaths as she walked to the podium. She glanced at a few faces — Mark, Katie, Steve — and saw only concern. Everyone knew they had been called back well before the next scheduled briefing. Danny frowned at her from the fourth row, his face pale and worried.

"Good evening," she began. "A short time ago, President Bartlet called Leo McGarry, Toby Ziegler and me. He had just spoken with Josh Lyman." She took a breath and looked up, letting her frown relax. "The Coast Guard Cutter _Vigilance_ rescued Sam Seaborn —"

The roar of sound was immediate, a collective gasp followed by shouts of "CJ! CJ!" She looked at Danny, perhaps the only reporter in the room not calling her name. His head was down, and one hand thumped the arm of his chair.

"Let me finish!" she scolded, but her smile was too wide for her words to have much effect. As she continued reading, Danny looked up. Their eyes met, and she read the incredible relief in his. He had been with them from the beginning, and knew them better than any reporter in this room. He and Sam shared a love of language and a respect for each other's writing. How many times had she fallen asleep listening to them talk as the campaign bus had rolled on to its next destination?

Half an hour later, CJ dropped into her desk chair and rested her head against the back. She had stayed while Captain Lemanski... _Julia_ had briefed the press on the details of the rescue. She had been thorough and patient, explaining in layman's terms how the _Vigilance_ had found and rescued Sam.

The phone rang on CJ's desk, and for a minute, she debated answering it. On the third ring, she gave in and picked it up. "CJ Cregg."

"Better keep an eye on that woman from the Coast Guard, CJ. Give her a couple of years, and she'll give you a run for your money," Josh teased.

"I'm ahead of you on that. I've already offered her a job." CJ pulled off her earrings and dropped them on her desk. "How are you, _mi amor_?"

Josh sighed. "I'm okay. They want to move Sam upstairs, so there's another doctor checking him over. I was encouraged to go have something to eat."

"In other words: get out?"

"Pretty much. They'll let me know when they take him up."

"And have you eaten?"

"Yeah, I had a hamburger which was surprisingly not bad. The coffee was pretty decent, too. I'm telling you, CJ, I think hospital food might be getting a bad rap."

CJ smiled. "You think so, huh? Maybe you should, you know, write a review. I'm sure you'd have people flocking in for the cuisine." She switched the phone to the other ear. "How's Sam?"

"Exhausted, battered..."

His voice thinned and faded away, and CJ gave him time to compose himself as she listened to the sounds of the hospital — people walking by talking, an overhead page, someone laughing.

"He went through an ordeal out there," she reminded him.

"I know, but it's a shock every time I look at him. " He took a deep breath. "The doctor said it's gonna take him a couple of days to bounce back."

"It will probably take the rest of us a couple of weeks to recover."

"It'll be fine with me if he never goes sailing again." But there was no humor behind the words.

CJ looked at her watch. "I know you said there was no reason to come down there tonight, but just say the word, and I can be there in an hour."

There was another brief silence, and then his voice came back on the line, stronger and more decisive. "No. Look, you don't need to give up what's left of your Saturday driving down here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Sam's asleep, and his parents are due here any minute." Josh paused. "I'll let you know as soon as I get his room number and stuff, okay?"

"Okay, but if you need me..."

"You're my first call, Claudia Jean."

"I'll talk to you later."

She hung up and drummed her hands on the desk, trying to decide what, if anything, she needed to take with her.

"Was that Josh?" Toby asked from the doorway.

"Yeah, they're moving Sam to a room."

"And you're okay with not going to the hospital tonight?"

"Josh said Sam's exhausted, so I'm guessing the last thing he wants is company."

"How about you?" Toby asked. "Could you use some company?"

She stood up, grabbing her handbag and keys. "That and some dinner."

He shut off the light as she passed him, following her down the hall. "Steak?"

"Lobster."

"Garlic mashed potatos."

She initialed the log, nodding to the guard. "Drawn butter."

Moving ahead of her, Toby opened the door. "Beer."

"Definitely."

"Harry's?"

"Perfect." CJ unlocked her car door. "C'mon, I'll drive."

Toby looked at his car and then back at her. "Yeah?"

"Get in."


	12. Chapter 12

A full minute after CJ hung up, Josh finally closed his phone and dropped it into his backpack. Leaning back in his chair, he looked around the lobby. The small coffee kiosk was doing a brisk business, as was the gift shop. He considered buying a magazine, but knew he was too exhausted to concentrate on anything for very long. He looked at his watch. It would be another hour before David and Kate Seaborn would land at Dulles.

"…sorry, sir. I don't have anyone registered by that name," an older woman at the reception desk said, her voice implying she had said this more than once.

"That can't be!" the man protested. "They told me they were bringing him here. That you were the closest hospital!"

Shaking her head, she typed on her keyboard and hit 'enter' rather viciously. "Sir, not only is your friend not a current patient, I can't find him in our system at all. He's never been here."

The man, who was easily in his late sixties, stared at her as he tried to work out the problem. Josh thought he looked exhausted. Dressed in wrinkled khakis and a polo shirt that might have been red at one time but had now faded to pink, he leaned heavily against the reception desk. His grey hair was tousled and uncombed, and he had not shaved in recent memory.

"I _am_ sorry, sir," the woman said, her tone softening. "I wish I had an answer for you."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Yeah, me too."

He turned away, shaking his head. Moving closer to where Josh was sitting, he pulled out a cell phone but merely stared at it.

"Dad?" a younger man called as he came through the automatic doors, carrying an overnight bag. He was a younger copy of his father down to the worn clothing, but his tousled hair was light brown. "What's going on? What did you find out?"

His father shook his head, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "He's not here."

"What? No! They told us —"

"Yeah, I know, but she checked twice, and he's not here."

"Okay, who do we call? Someone must know where they took Sam, right?"

Josh blinked and sat up straighter. _Sam?_ What were the chances? The older man glanced over at him and froze as he pulled out his phone again.

"You're Josh Lyman, aren't you? Sam Seaborn's friend."

"Yes, sir. And you're…" He rose to his feet.

"Andy Maxwell. This is my son, Rich."

Josh shook hands with them both. "It was your boat —"

"Sam's here, right?" Rich asked. "How is he?"

Josh saw the lady at the reception desk watching them and gave her a smile before turning his back to her. "He's got a concussion, and they're keeping him overnight for observation, but he should be okay."

Andy and Rich both let out sighs of relief.

"When he wasn't on the list…" Andy shook his head, and Josh thought he still looked shaken.

"I apologize for that. We asked the hospital not to give out any information. There are only so many hospitals that the Coast Guard would've taken him to, and we didn't want the press camped out in the lobby."

"No, no, I thoroughly understand, but I'll tell you a thousand terrible things went through my head."

"I can imagine. I spent the afternoon thinking those same things."

"We all did," Rich said quietly.

"Look, they're in the process of moving Sam to a room right now, but can we sit down and talk for a couple of minutes?" Josh gestured toward the chairs.

Andy nodded as he dropped tiredly into a chair. "I'm sure you want to know what happened."

"Believe me, I'm not the only one."

"Yeah, I'll bet Jed Bartlet has more than a passing interest." Andy thought for a moment, obviously arranging his thoughts. "I imagine you've been sailing with Sam."

Josh shook his head. "No, not really." Father and son looked at him with identical looks of surprise. "We've talked about it, but we've never actually done it."

"Okay, then let me begin by telling you that Sam is one of the most accomplished sailors I've ever met. We've been trying to get him out on the boat for most of the summer, haven't we?" he asked his son.

"Dad and I had hoped that now with him in Washington and all, we'd see him more often." Rich shrugged. "I guess we both kind of overlooked how much of his time would get eaten up by helping run the country."

"Anyway, he finally managed to find the time this weekend," Andy continued. "The first thing you should know about Sam is that he not only knows exactly what he should be doing, but what everybody else should be doing as well."

"Which I learned the first time I met him," Rich told him. "We were crewing for a mutual friend of ours. I was young and stupid and not taking it very seriously. Sam finally got fed up with me and my attitude and threw me into the water. _Then_ he dove in and dragged me out by my collar. Boy, did he give me an earful!"

"Sounds like him," Josh muttered, picturing Sam, soaking wet and furious.

"I tried to defend myself, but he had me dead to rights — and we both knew it. I spent the rest of the day trying to impress him."

Josh turned back to Andy. "So today..."

"Today we were just going to take it easy and have some fun. The rest of the guys showed up at the house for breakfast, and we finally got to the marina around nine." Andy huffed a sigh. "At that point, it looked like the sun would burn through the clouds."

"And once you got out on the boat?" Josh pressed.

Rich leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "All of us had one helluva good time. Not everybody had a ton of experience, but we just clicked as a crew." His eyes met Josh's. "Sam was helping the guys who needed it, but he was having a great time, Josh, he really was."

"So what happened?"

Andy took a deep breath. "The wind picked up, and the weather turned. In ten, fifteen minutes at most, we were running downwind into a gale. We decided the smartest thing to do was head in, and in the mean time, Sam rigged up the preventer line."

"The, ah, what?"

"Basically, it prevents the boom from swinging."

Josh nodded. "Got it."

"He had just starting coming aft to help me at the helm when the boat jibed. The boom swung pretty violently and broke the preventer line. He didn't have a chance to get out of the way. It knocked him right over the lifelines."

"He wasn't, you know, tied to anything?"

"No," Rich said, shaking his head, "he was reaching for the tether when it happened. God, it was horrible to watch."

"Josh, you have to believe that I turned that boat as fast as I could!" Andy pleaded. "Rich radioed the Coast Guard right away. The wind, the rain, the waves — we knew it wasn't going to be easy to find him."

Rob gripped the arms of his chair. "The only thing we had going for us, though, was that it _was_ Sam. "

Andy nodded. "If anybody'd know what to do, it'd be Sam. Even half-conscious, I'd put good money on that boy. And damn, if I wasn't right!"

Josh thought of Sam tripping on the carpet in the Oval, walking into doorways, and hitting the corner of his desk. He had not shared the same confidence in his best friend that these two men had. He shook his head. Maybe it was time to take Sam up on his offer of a day on the water.

"Mr. Lyman?"

Josh looked up. A woman dressed in a printed top with white pants and shoes smiled at him. Even without the ID hanging around her neck, there was something so competent about her that it shouted _Nurse!_ He was on his feet in an instant.

"I'm Josh Lyman."

"Hi, I'm Diane, one of the nurses from South Six. Dr. Polk asked me to come down and tell you that Sam's been moved upstairs." She glanced at Andy and Rich, and lowered her voice. "Room 612."

"I'll be right up... if that's okay."

She smiled at him and tucked a strand of chin-length blond hair behind one ear. "That's fine. You don't have to rush though. He's asleep, has been since they brought him up."

"I'll be right up," Josh repeated.

She nodded and started for the elevators. Josh turned to Andy and Rich who were already on their feet.

"We'll be going," Andy told him. "Doesn't sound like Sam needs company tonight."

"I'll tell him you both were here," Josh said, shaking his hand.

Rich handed him the overnight bag and a set of keys. "I left his car in the B lot, second row. This is his bag. We stopped by the house and picked up his things. Thought he might want them."

Josh took the bag and shook hands with him as well. "Thanks, I'm sure he will."

"Would you tell him I'll give him a call this week? Maybe set up another date to go sailing."

It was all Josh could do not to flinch. Good sailor or not, he was not about to let Sam out of his sight for a while, and he was certain he was not alone in that resolve.

"It was good to meet you. Sam has mentioned you both."

Turning, he hurried after Diane to the bank of elevators. She had already pressed the call button, and the door opened as he approached. Stepping back to let people off, he followed her into the empty car and watched as she pressed '6'.

"What time do visiting hours end?" he asked.

"Nine."

"Nine, really?" Josh looked at his watch. There was no way the Seaborns would arrive in time to see their son tonight.

Diane put her hand on his arm. "It's all right. No matter when Sam's mom and dad get here, they'll let them in. After the day they've had —" Her eyes welled with tears, and she wiped them away.

Josh panicked, as he always did around emotional women. "Hey..."

"I'm sorry. I have kids, and I know how I'd feel if one of them disappeared like that." She looked closer at him. "You must've had a terrible day, too."

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of the car. "It was not the best day ever, no."

"Well, from the doctor said, this time tomorrow Sam will be home, and all this will be a fading nightmare."

"God, I hope so."


	13. Chapter 13

As the plane touched down at Dulles, David felt Kate tense beside him. He closed his hand over hers, his thumb stroking her soft skin. She glanced down and then leaned against him.

"Almost there," he murmured.

"I know."

"Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn," the flight attendant said, holding onto the seat in front of them as the plane taxied to the gate, "a member of American's ground crew here in Washington will meet you on the jetway and escort you through the airport."

As the plane came to a stop, he reached up and opened the overhead compartment. With the ease of long practice, he grabbed their bags. "If you're ready?"

Unfastening his seatbelt, David stood up and stepped into the aisle. He took a step back, allowing Kate to precede him to the front of the plane. As they approached, the flight attendant handed their bags to a blond-haired man wearing a blue suit.

As she passed the flight attendant, Kate smiled. "Thank you. You've been very kind."

"It was my pleasure, ma'am. I hope your next flight with us is more enjoyable." He shook the hand David extended. "Good luck with the rest of your trip, sir. I hope everything turns out okay."

"Thank you."

"Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn, I'm Steve Tibbets. If you'd follow me?" the man said leading them up the jetway. "The White House asked us to escort you to the car.

Outside the gate, there was a motorized cart waiting. Steve placed their bags in the back as David handed Kate into the rear seat. Climbing in after her, he nodded to the driver, a young man who looked noticeably nervous as Steve climbed in beside him.

"Okay, Kevin. Let's go."

Kevin touched the accelerator, and the cart rolled slowly forward. They moved away from the gate at a pace best described as "sedate". Kate looked at David, eyebrows lifted in question.

"Kevin, I think Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn would like to see their son sometime before the sun rises tomorrow," Steve said, shooting an embarrassed smile over his shoulder.

Kevin slowed even further as he pondered this.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "Our job is to transport them _as quickly as possible_ through the airport. To do that, you're gonna have to drive faster than they can walk."

Kevin hit the accelerator, and David grabbed the handle beside him, automatically reaching for Kate who had a tight grip on the back of Steve's seat. They raced down the length of the terminal which had little foot traffic at this time on Saturday evening. Turning into the main concourse, they whizzed passed larger carts with a few sharp beeps of the horn.

"Slow down a little," Steve ordered calmly, but David saw him brace his foot against the front of the cart. "We aren't in _that_ much of a hurry."

Kevin immediately slowed the cart, but they were still making good time. David tried not to watch the shops and restaurants flying by. Within minutes, they reached the front of the terminal where a young African-American man dressed in a dark suit and white shirt waited.

He stepped forward as they screeched to a stop, smiling as he helped Kate out of the cart. "Welcome to Washington, ma'am. I'm Derrick, and I'm here to drive y'all to the hospital." He took the bags from the back of the cart. "If you'd follow me?"

Pausing only long enough to thank Steve and Kevin for their assistance, David hurried out of the terminal. A black town car was parked directly in front of the door beside a sign which clearly read "No Parking. Official Use Only." _One benefit of working for the White House,_ he mused as he joined Kate in the back seat.

"How long is the trip?" Kate asked as Derrick pulled into traffic.

He glanced up at the rearview mirror. "About an hour, ma'am."

The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass, and he turned them to intermittent. David looked out at the darkening night, just able to make out breaks in the cloud cover.

"It will be a better day tomorrow," Kate murmured. "A _much_ better day."

* * *

By the time they reached the hospital, the rain had started again. Pouring from the night sky, it drummed relentlessly against the car's roof and reducing visibility to almost nothing. David was not sure how Derrick even found the driveway in the downpour, but a moment after the turn, he pulled under a covered entrance. Throwing the car into park, he hurried around to open the door.

David climbed out slowly, his muscles stiff after the long trip. He offered Kate his hand as she slid across the seat. He knew she was tired and frantic to see Sam, but every hair was in place and she had reapplied her lipstick.

Holding hands, they rushed into the nearly deserted lobby. The gift shop was closed, its lights off. An older woman stood behind the information desk, pulling a plastic rain hat out of her voluminous purse.

"Excuse me —" David began.

"David!" Josh called, hurrying toward them. He looked worn out, and his smile was tinged with relief as he reached them.

"Josh dear!" Kate said, hugging him. She waited long enough for them to shake hands before asking, "Where's Sam? Have you seen him?"

"I've been watching him sleep for the last two hours. C'mon, I'll take you upstairs."

They followed him to the elevators, waiting as he pushed the call button. The door of the middle car opened immediately. Josh stepped back so they could get on, and then punched the '6'.

He turned to face them. "I've spoken to the doctors, and they're all saying the same thing: Sam may be a little battered, but he's gonna be okay. In fact, he should be out of here tomorrow."

"_Exactly_ what did they say?" Kate asked.

"He has a grade-two concussion. They were a little worried," he conceded, "because they didn't know if he lost consciousness when he was in the water. That's one of the reasons they did the CAT scan." He looked from Kate to David and back before hastening to add, "But everything was fine. Nothing to worry about."

David studied him, seeing the worry that lingered in his eyes. "There's something else, isn't there?"

He frowned and looked down for a moment before meeting David's gaze. "He, ah, doesn't remember what happened."

Kate gasped and gripped David's hand tighter. "None of it?"

"Dr. Donoghue — she took care of Sam in the ER — said retrograde amnesia isn't unusual in cases like this. It usually resolves in a couple of hours."

"Is that what they think will happen with Sam?" David pressed.

"Yeah, once he stays awake long enough to start processing what happened. Right now he's so tired, he nods off mid-sentence. But," he cautioned, "there may be parts of today that he never remembers." He frowned. "I can't decide if that's good or bad."

"Dear, does anyone know what happened?" Kate asked.

"Yeah, I talked to Andy Maxwell a little while ago — you know him?"

"His son's a friend of Sam's," she supplied.

Josh nodded. "Rich. Yeah, I met him, too. Anyway, they said a line snapped, and then the boom swung, hit Sam and knocked him into the water."

The elevator dinged as it came to a stop, and the door slid open. Josh led them down the corridor, ignoring a sign that directed all visitors to stop at the nurses' station. A woman came out of one of the rooms and gently closed the door as they approached.

"This is Diane. She's been taking care of Sam since he came upstairs," Josh said. "Diane, these are -"

"Kate and David, Sam's parents," she finished.

"How is he?" Kate asked.

"He's doing fine. Everyone's pleased with his progress." She started down the hall. "C'mon, you'll feel better once you've seen that boy of yours."

She stopped in front of a closed door at the far end of the hall. "Don't worry that you'll wake him. We're doing neuro checks every hour, and it's almost time for the next one. I'm sure he'd rather see you both than answer my questions again. I have the feeling that I'm trying his patience." She stepped back to let them go in alone. She put her hand on David's arm as he passed her. "Take all the time you need. There's no more need to rush."

Josh pointed over his shoulder at the elevator. "I've got to go do a thing."

David stopped him as Josh turned away. "Josh, thank you. You don't know how much better my wife and I felt, knowing you were with Sam."

Color rose in Josh's face as he mumbled, "You're welcome, sir." A second later, he was hurrying down the hall.

David followed Kate into the dimly lit room. Only one lamp was on, and it had been turned down to its lowest setting. Josh had warned them that Sam looked "a little" battered, and David was glad he had prepared them that much. He was certain he had never seen his son look worse. He was pale, his skin almost grey. Under his eyes were bruises that promised to be purple before morning, and a bandage stood out against his forehead.

"Oh, Sam…" he murmured as Kate moved toward the bed.

With a gentle hand, she smoothed Sam's hair away from his face and then bent to kiss his cheek. "Hello, sweetheart," she whispered.

Sam's eyes slowly opened at her touch, and he blinked, clearly trying to decide if he was dreaming. "H..." His voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat. "Hey, Mom."

David moved to the other side of the bed. As gently as Kate had, he kissed the top of his son's head. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam's gaze drifted to him. "Yeah." He frowned, shifting under the blankets. "…tried to do what you said, Dad, but…" He sighed. "…so tired."

"You did everything right," David told him firmly. "You kept yourself alive until help came, and that's exactly what I wanted you to do. We're all very proud of you."

"You said…" His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "You said…"

Kate, smoothing the blankets, shushed him gently. "There'll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. Right now, you should go back to sleep."

Sam frowned and started pushing away the blankets.

David grabbed his shoulder and held him still when Sam would have climbed out of bed. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Need to brush m'teeth."

"Not tonight, sweetheart," Kate told him firmly.

"Mouth tastes…" He ran his tongue over his teeth. "…funky."

David fought a smile. "I'll bet it does. You swallowed a lot of water today."

"Threw up... all over," his son confided.

"Sam!" Kate scolded, but her smile was bright for the first time since this nightmare had started.

"Sorry." His eyes began drifting shut, but he forced them open. "Stay a while?"

Kate ran gentle fingers through his hair. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. We'll be right here."

"'Kay…" He started drifting again, but just when David was sure he was asleep, he mumbled, "Josh?"

"He just stepped out," David told him. "He'll be back any time now."

"'Kay…"

When they were certain Sam was asleep, David drew a chair up beside the one that was already next to the bed. Apparently, Josh had not been exaggerating when he said he had watched Sam sleep for the two hours. Dropping onto the chair, David watched Kate smooth the covers and touch the back of her fingers to Sam's cheek.

"Fever?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

She sat down beside him. "No, he's cool."

He draped his arm along the back of her chair, and when her body leaned against his, he wrapped his arms around her.

"We should call Barbara and Liam," she murmured.

"There'll be time for that later."

They sat together, letting the quiet flow over them and soothe their frayed nerves. David thought of the hours that had passed since that first awful phone call, and of the many people they should thank for the kindnesses they had shown two worried, frightened parents. But for now, he was content to hold his wife in the gentle darkness and watch their son sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Rolling onto his side, Sam closed his eyes and focused on taking deep, even breaths. He had jerked awake in the early hours of the morning, gasping from a terrifying nightmare of boats and storms, and a suffocating wall of gray water closing over his head. His heart had pounded in unison with his head as he fought to control his breathing. When he had calmed, he examined the memories the nightmare had jarred loose.

At first, there were only flashes, like out-of-sequence snapshots, but slowly they grew and expanded. Leaning against the granite-topped island in the Maxwells' oversized kitchen and drinking coffee as Andy dished up plates of eggs and bacon. The sound of laughter as they drove to the marina. Rich patting him on the shoulder and assuring the guys who had never sailed before that Sam would make sure they knew what to do. And he had. Once aboard _The Written Word_, he had slipped easily into instructor mode as they made the yacht ready to sail.

One moment stood out from the rest. Andy had used the motor to take the boat out of the marina. When they reached the open water of the Chesapeake, though, he had cut the engine. Sam remembered hearing the _whomf! _of the wind filling the sails, and feeling the vibration that ran through the boat as they started moving. God, it had been too long since he had been out on the water!

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position as his muscles protested both the time in the water and the too-small hospital bed. Diane had checked on him just before dawn and had hurried out, bringing back some much needed Tylenol. That had lessened, but not eradicated, the headache. He had slept after that, waking when they brought in a lukewarm breakfast he had barely touched.

Closing his eyes against the bright sunlight coming through the half-open blinds, Sam searched his memory again for the accident itself. He remembered the sun disappearing, and the clouds turning from white to charcoal in what seemed like seconds. The wind had picked up, fighting them as they eased the sails. And then... He frowned. And then, there was nothing but the hours he had spent in the water.

His breathing hitched, and once again, he focused on slowing it down. _It's over, you're fine, you survived._ _It's over, you're fine…_

Gentle fingers touched his cheek, their touch familiar and calming. With clumsy grace, he took hold of them.

"Mom," he murmured.

"How's my boy this morning?" Kate asked, leaning down to kiss him.

"Tired…hungry."

"The nurse – Connie, is it? – said you barely touched your breakfast."

"Food was cold." He forced open his eyes and squinted at her. "And the coffee was decaf."

She leaned against the bed, continuing to hold his hand. "Your dad and Josh are out finding you something to eat right now. Josh knew you wouldn't be happy with the coffee."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "Good."

Kate ran her free hand through his hair. "Your head's still aching?"

"A little. The doctor said it would be a couple of days before it stopped. Just have to be careful not to make it any worse."

"Why don't I close the blinds?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Thanks."

When she had adjusted the blind so the room was almost dark, she pulled a chair closer, reaching for his hand as she sat down. "Is that better?"

"Yeah," he admitted, entwining his fingers with hers.

A comfortable silence fell between them: Kate content to simply sit beside him, Sam content to let her. The bustle of the hospital seemed a distant thing, the door muffling the sound of activity in the hall outside.

Sam tried prodding his memory again, but he still had no recollection of how he had ended up in the water. Kate gasped as he unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand.

"Sorry!" he yelped, immediately letting go. "I'm so sorry, Mom!"

"Darling, it's all right. I'm fine." She reached over and covered his hand with hers. "I'm fine," she repeated. She studied his face. "You've remembered what happened yesterday, haven't you?"

"Well, I don't remember how I got this." He touched the bandage on his forehead. "But I know most of what led up to it. And I remember being in the water."

"Oh, Sam…"

"I couldn't remember what to do, Mom."

"You were barely conscious!"

"I kept hearing Dad's voice. He kept telling me they were looking for me and not to give up." He met his mother's eyes. "I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I wouldn't have made it without him."

"It doesn't sound ridiculous to me," Kate whispered.

"Really?"

"The first time Dad took you sailing, it was against my very strong objections. You had just started walking, and your balance was…" She shrugged, and they both smiled. "I was so worried you'd fall overboard, even with the life jacket he had found for you. We argued for days about it, but in the end, he convinced me. "

Sam tried to picture his very protective mother giving in and failed. "He did?"

"He said, 'Katie, I promise I'll keep our boy safe every second he's on that boat. I'll teach him everything he needs to know, and I'll be by his side whenever he goes out on the water.' And I believed him. If you had seen the —" She searched for a word. "— determination on his face yesterday." Her voice caught on a sob. "He _was_ with you, Sam."

Sam took her hand between his two and gently kissed the knuckles. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I frightened you both so badly."

"You're safe now; that's all that matters." She brushed tears away. "Why don't you try to sleep, sweetheart?"

"I'm really not…" He yawned. "…tired."

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "Humor your mother."

He closed his eyes. The headache was still there, but when he stayed absolutely still, it was tolerable. The light floral scent of his mother's perfume was familiar and comforting. He knew his parents and Josh had stayed with him for hours the night before, and he thought if he just lay quietly, his mother might fall asleep. After the day she had endured, she needed rest. All he had to do was convince her he was asleep. He had certainly done it before. All it took was _deep, even breaths_; _deep, even breaths_; _deep, even…_


	15. Chapter 15

"There's a spot," CJ said, pointing to an empty parking space, "but it's kind of sm—"

Toby barely slowed and, with the precision of someone who learned parallel parking on the crowded streets of Brooklyn, he pulled into the spot. Taking the keys from the ignition, he turned and glared at the driver in the Mercedes who had been on his bumper for the last two blocks. When their eyes met, she froze for an instant before punching the accelerator and speeding away.

"Republican," he muttered, unfastening his seat belt.

"If you're through making friends?" CJ asked as she opened the back door.

He hurried around the car, and she piled neatly packed trays of food into his arms. Taking the last two trays and a bag of French baguettes, she used a knee to close the door.

"Shouldn't you lock it?" she inquired as they walked down the street in the late afternoon sun.

He glanced back at the car. It had just fit between a late-model Saab and a brand-new Lexus. No self-respecting thief would choose his car over either of those — or any of the cars parked nearby.

"I'm willing to take my chances."

She nodded, walking a little faster as they crossed the street in front of Sam's building. He kept pace with her and then followed her up the walk. With their hands full, he wondered how they would open the door but, before they reached it, Josh was there.

"Here, give me those," he directed CJ, taking the trays from her. "You want me to take one of those?" he asked Toby as CJ held the door for them both.

"As long as we don't stop, I'm fine."

Josh sniffed the trays he was carrying. "Hey, this smells really, really good."

"Leo's idea." Toby reported, walking a little faster as the trays grew heavier. "He had Margaret call that restaurant he likes — Sophie's?"

"Phoebe's," CJ corrected him. "The maitre d' told me they had the kitchen staff in two hours early to put this together."

"Wow, they did that for Leo? Cool!"

"How's Sam?" CJ asked as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"He's still got the headache, and he's photophobic —" He paused, looking from one to the other, obviously hoping one of them would ask him for a definition. Catching Toby's glower, he hurried on, "— but otherwise, he's good."

The door to Sam's apartment stood open, the muted sound of a preseason football game on the television drifting out. Josh led them into the kitchen, setting the trays down on the counter. Someone had opened two bottles of red wine, letting them breathe before dinner.

"Where is everybody?" CJ whispered.

"Sam's in his room. He crashed as soon as we got here. Kate's lying down in the guest room, so David went in to say you're here."

"How are they doing?"

Josh opened the refrigerator and pulled out three bottles of beer. He uncapped them, handing one to CJ and one to Toby. "A lot better than they were yesterday at this time. I told you we stayed at the hospital until around one? Kate was up and dressed by the time I got down to the lobby of the hotel this morning. It was all David could do to persuade her that we should eat breakfast before we went back to the hospital."

At the sound of voices, he stopped talking and took a swig of beer. An instant later, David and Kate came into the kitchen.

Toby had liked Sam's parents when he had met them during the campaign. They had the knack of making complete strangers feel at ease in their home. Arriving mere hours after their sweep of the Super Tuesday primaries, Sam and Josh had been thrilled and excited, finishing each other's sentences when they were not talking through one another. David had taken one look at Toby, though, and poured him a generous amount of excellent scotch. Showing him out to the patio, he had left him alone to quietly savor the wins. When Kate had seated him to her right during dinner, Toby had been leery of her, certain she planned to grill her son's new boss. Their conversation had never strayed to Sam. She had questions, of course, but they concerned the campaign and Toby's view of where they stood and what they needed to do over the coming months. By the end of the evening, he had felt more relaxed than he had been in months. Driving back to the hotel in the early hours of the morning, he had tried to decide whether Sam was more like Kate or David, but had failed to decide. Sam was, most definitely, a hybrid of his parents.

"Toby, how are you?" Kate asked kissing his cheek as David greeted CJ with a hug. "It's so good to see you."

And that was the charm of this woman. She made everyone feel as if she had been hoping they might stop in. He had seen Sam do the same thing with wayward members of Congress. They came in braced for Josh's brash in-your-face approach or Toby's growl. Sam's greeting invariably threw them off balance, and he used that to great advantage.

David turned to him, offering a warm handshake. "How are you?"

"Good. You?"

"About ten years older than I was on Friday, thanks to my son." Smiling, he ran a hand over his white hair. "Thank god, I don't have to worry about going grey."

"I'm going to the salon as soon as we get home," Kate said, moving around them to hug CJ.

They watched Kate and CJ investigate the trays of food, determining which ones should go into the oven to keep warm and discussing how to rearrange the contents of the refrigerator to accommodate the others. Josh was pressed into service, despite his pleas that he really needed to get back to his football game. One long look from CJ, though, stopped him mid-protest.

Leaning in the doorway, Toby glanced over his shoulder at the door of Sam's room. It was ajar, as if someone had poked their head in to check on him and had not closed it. Surely the sound of voices and laughter drifting out of the kitchen would wake him.

David touched his arm, and they moved into the living room. Nodding toward the other room, he said, "Go check on Sam."

"If he's sleeping —"

David was quietly insistent. "Tell him it's time for dinner."

Toby crossed the living room and opened the door to Sam's room. The blinds were down, but late afternoon sunlight still illuminated the room and the sound of cars passing in the street drifted through the open windows. Walking to the bed, he rested his hands on the footboard.

Sam slept as neatly as he did everything else. On the campaign bus, they had grabbed what rest they could traveling from stop to stop. Josh always looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut, collapsed across the seat. Toby himself slouched with his head against the window, feeling the jolt of every pothole the bus driver found. Sam, though, slept sitting upright, turned sideways in the seat so his head rested against its back. Even now, he lay on his side, legs aligned and one hand tucked under the pillow.

Toby studied his deputy, looking for signs of the struggle he had endured. Two badly bruised eyes, looking swollen even at this distance. A piece of gauze covered the stitches on Sam's forehead. He swallowed hard. Yes, it could have been so much, but this was bad enough. The scare Sam had given them yesterday…

Reaching down, he rested a hand on Sam's ankle. "_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha olam..._"

The touch startled Sam who awoke with a gasp, and then relaxed when he focused on Toby.

"Hey," he mumbled, rolling onto his back.

"Your, uh, father sent me in. It's time for dinner."

"CJ here?" Sam asked through a yawn.

"She's in the kitchen with Kate, terrorizing Josh."

"Don't want to miss that," Sam said, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor. He swayed, one hand going to his head as the other gripped the edge of the mattress. Toby grabbed his shoulder and steadied him.

"Wow, massive head rush."

Toby frowned. " For god's sake, Sam, slow down. On your best day, your balance is lousy, and now you've got a damn _concussion_ on top of it!"

Sam winced at the scolding, drawing in a whistling breath between his teeth. "Believe me, I'm aware of that — and so are the little guys playing the _Anvil Chorus_ inside my skull."

Letting go of his shoulder, Toby took a step back. "Are you… all right?"

"Yeah."

"Need anything?"

Sam shook his head slightly.

"I'll just go…" Toby pointed over his shoulder toward the living room.

As he reached the door, Sam called after him, "Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

"It wasn't your fault."

He looked down at his hands. "Maybe not, but I scared the hell out of a lot of people. I'm sorry for that."

Toby stood in the doorway, studying the slumped figure on the bed. "Sam?" he said and waited until Sam turned to face him. "You're a good deputy," he murmured and closed the door quietly behind him.

_

* * *

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha olam:_ Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe


	16. Chapter 16

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam dragged a polo shirt over his head, careful not to move too quickly. Pulling on his jeans had nearly been his undoing. The deck shoes he had worn home from the hospital lay in front of the closet door where he had toed them off and, truth be told, he had never realized how far the closet was from the bed.

He yawned and stretched, his back cracking. Amazing how stiff and sore he still was. And tired. God, he had not done much more than sleep today, and he could easily sleep for hours more. Of course, the hospital was the worst place on earth to get any rest, but this morning's nap had been interrupted by Josh and his dad bringing him breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon and the best coffee he had had in forever.

"Hey, need any help?" Josh asked, poking his head around the half-open door.

He shrugged. "I'm okay."

Josh walked over and picked up the deck shoes. Handing them to Sam, he dropped on to the bed beside him and leaned back on his elbows.

Hearing him yawn, Sam glanced over his shoulder. "You okay there?"

"I missed my Sunday afternoon nap." He smiled, cocking his head to one side. "God, I love that nap."

"Look, you don't have to hang around —" Sam began, but Josh cut him off with a frown.

"I wasn't complaining."

Sam started to raise an eyebrow, but remembered the stitches in time. "Really? 'Cause it sounded like you were."

"Nah, it was great watching the game with your dad." He watched Sam struggled with a badly knotted leather lace. "He opened two bottles of wine we found in the kitchen, by the way."

"Good, I should've thought of that."

"Toby tell you they brought dinner with them?"

"No, is that what I'm smelling?"

"Yeah, Leo arranged for it. That restaurant he like — Phoebe's."

"Not too shabby."

Josh sat up so they were shoulder to shoulder. "Head any better?"

"It is what it is," Sam told him, giving up on the shoelace and tossing the shoes back in front of the closet. He glanced down at his hands. "Thanks for everything you did yesterday. It really meant a lot to have you...you know, _there_."

"You'd do it for me," Josh told him.

Sam smiled and met his gaze. "You planning to fall off a boat?"

"Not so much." He frowned. "Hey, how come we've never gone sailing?"

"Because whenever I tried to pin you down for a date and time, you'd never commit. After a while, I just figured you didn't want to go — which isn't a big deal. Not everybody likes sailing."

Josh shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It always seems like there's plenty of time to do stuff like that, but after yesterday..."

"Josh —"

He faced Sam, intent on making his point. "The whole time you were missing, you know what I didn't let myself think about? Monday."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow and all the things that wouldn't happen. I wouldn't hear about your weekend, I wouldn't tell you about mine. You wouldn't be late for Senior Staff; Leo wouldn't roll his eyes when you finally showed up." He frowned. "Stupid, huh? None of it's important. You're my best friend, for God's sake! I should've been thinking… _bigger_ thoughts."

"Josh..."

"But one thing I decided was that it's time to stop putting off stuff."

Sam's head ached as he imagined Josh with a _carpe diem _outlook. The White House would not survive. Time to change the subject. "So you want to go sailing?"

"Yeah, because I know this guy who really enjoys it. And I heard from a couple of people that he's a really good teacher."

"I am," Sam admitted, a bit smug.

"But there's one thing…"

He waited.

Josh ran a hand through his hair. "I'm — we're _all_ gonna need some time to, you know, get over this. A couple of months, at least."

Sam blinked. "But it'll be _winter_ by then."

"Works for me."

Sam stood, pausing to make sure he was steady on his feet. Josh stood as well, staying half a step behind him. He had been quietly _there_ all day in a way Sam never thought him capable. When the doctor had finally given him permission for a shower and shave, Josh had leaned in the doorway of the small bathroom after encouraging Sam's parents to stretch their legs. Launching into a monologue — about what, Sam was not sure since all his attention had been focused on keeping his balance — he had talked nonstop through Sam's shower and an ill-considered attempt at shaving. It was, Sam had found, difficult to shave while shaking from the strain of standing too long. Josh had finally taken the razor out of his hand and finished the job "before you slit your throat."

Sam paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of his father and Toby slouched in matching armchairs, arguing amicably about the game on tv.

"Who's winning?"

"That depends on your view of the refereeing," David began.

Toby snorted derisively.

Josh poked Sam in the back. "Don't stop, this is nothing you want to be part of."

In the kitchen, CJ leaned against a counter, sipping a glass of white wine as Kate checked something in the oven.

"Kate, let me do that."

"I'm just going to pull off the foil, dear. You can help later."

Sam knew that tone. _Later_ rarely, if ever, came when his mother made herself at home in a kitchen. "Dinner almost ready?"

CJ turned then, trying not to show how shocked she was at the bruises and the bandage. Setting the glass on the counter, she crossed the kitchen and carefully wrapped her arms around him. He responded with a hard, firm hug. _I'm not going to break, CJ._

With the back of one careful finger, she gently touched his cheek near one of the bruises. Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Sam."

He covered her hand with his. "I'm okay."

"It hurts just to look at you."

"Nothing new there," Josh offered. He froze as CJ glared at him. "Kidding! I swear I'm kidding!"

CJ pursed her lips, and Sam braced himself for her retort. After glaring at Josh again, she returned her gaze to Sam. "I think we'll hide you away until the bruises fade."

Josh crossed his arms and lounged against the doorjamb. "We could use it to our advantage."

Sam turned and gave him a long look.

"Joshua Lyman! What a thing to say!" Kate scolded.

He managed to look abashed, but Sam saw he had not let go of the idea completely.

"I'm sure the President would prefer not to have one of his senior advisors on _Meet the Press _looking like the Congressional bullies beat him up at recess," Toby commented as he came in and poured himself two fingers of scotch from the bottle on the counter.

Kate handed him a plate of crackers and cheese. "Toby dear, would you take these into the living room? It'll be a few minutes before dinner's ready."

It effectively moved everyone out of the kitchen, and Sam marveled at it as he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Mom, do you have something to drink?"

Setting the oven timer, she waved a hand at her wineglass. "Yes, dear." She looked at the bottle in his hand. "Do you want a glass for that?"

Sam cracked open the bottle and took a long swallow. "No, I'm good."

She shook her head, laughing. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it."

"Remember what you used to say to me?" he teased. "_When it's your house, you can do what you want._"

"Well, I didn't mean it," she confessed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Now you tell me!"

They laughed, but she kept hold of him.

"It's okay, Mom," he murmured, rubbing her back. "Everything's okay."

She wiped tears from her eyes. "I know, but keep telling me that, all right? Just for a few more days."

Sam nodded. He had frightened all of them, and it would take more than a good meal and some wine to convince everyone that things were back to normal. It would take time — a lot of time, according to Josh.

He followed his mother into the living room, sitting down beside CJ on the sofa with Kate on his right. CJ leaned into him, and he covered her hand with his.

Each of them had touched him — _kept_ touching him — making sure he was still among them. And each touch had, in turn, reassured him of the same thing. His only clear memory of the emergency room was Josh's hand on his arm, its warmth and strength anchoring him to time and place. Then there was waking to his mother smoothing his hair and his father kissing the top of his head. He had relaxed, knowing they would keep watch over him. Drifting awake hours later, he had felt the familiar hold on his arm and knew Josh had joined them as well.

"...right, Sam?"

Jerked from his thoughts, he sat bolt upright, almost spilling the water. "Yeah?"

"_Yeah_ what?" Josh teased from his spot on the floor leaning against the couch.

"Yeah... uh..." Befuddled, Sam looked around at the amused faces. "Yeah?"

David shook his head. "Well, we can all stop worrying. Sam's back to normal."

The oven timer sounded in the kitchen, and Kate stood up. "You," she said, pointing at her husband, "behave yourself." When Josh snickered, she nudged him with her foot. "And you stop egging him on."

Toby rose and started to follow her out. As he passed behind the sofa, one hand gripped Sam's shoulder for an instant. Before he could turn, Toby had released his hold and disappeared into the kitchen.

"He was worried," CJ said, her voice a whisper. "We all were, but Toby..." She swallowed hard. "Don't ever do that again, Sam. Our hearts just can't take it."

He nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She relaxed against him, slowly bringing her emotions under control as the two of them pretended to watch the game.


	17. Chapter 17

With a sidelong look at his watch, Josh nodded at the Honorable Representative from Rhode Island. "I agree, Ken, but I think it will be a hard sell to any state that isn't along the East Coast."

"I've talked to Barry from Oregon and a couple of people from California, and they've all agreed to support it."

Josh closed the folder in front of him. "Now there are just the states in-between to bring on board. Let me know when some of them agree, and I'll take it to the President."

Everyone around the conference table in the Roosevelt Room began collecting their belongings, quiet chatter filling the room as Josh shook a few hands and hurried out. It was eight a.m., and he was fifteen minutes behind schedule. _Not bad for a Wednesday,_ he congratulated himself as he paused in the Communications bullpen, his eyes going to Sam's office. For the first time since Friday, the door was open and the lights were on.

Sam stood behind his desk, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his office — an office filled with plants, fruit baskets and trays of cookies. The three bottles of scotch Josh had noticed the day before had, however, disappeared. Already secreted away in the bottom drawer of the credenza if he knew Sam.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You're back."

When Sam turned to face him, Josh was relieved to see the bruises under his eyes had faded from black and blue to purple. With luck, they would disappear by Monday. The bandage was gone, and he winced at the row of stitches in the middle of a still spectacular bruise.

"What _is_ all this?" Sam asked. "It looks like... Well, honestly, I don't know exactly what it looks like, but I'm pretty sure the National Arboretum is missing some of its exhibits."

Josh dropped into one of the guest chairs. "Ever read _Day of the Triffids_?"

Putting on his glasses, Sam flipped through a pile of cards, emails and gift tags. "_Day of the _what?"

"Triffids. Plants that walk around on three legs and have these poisonous stingers that kill people —"

Sam glanced at the foliage around the room. "These triffids — fiction, right?"

Josh swallowed a grin. "So they say."

"Cathy!"

"Don't worry, we have it under control," Cathy told him, coming in with a cup of coffee which she handed to him. "We've sent thank-you notes for almost everything, but I knew there were a few you'd want to write yourself." She pointed at a small stack of cards.

"You gave away the flowers to everyone who helped out on Saturday, right?"

"Didn't you notice? It's like a botanical garden out there."

He took a swallow of coffee, sighing happily at its strength. "Ginger made the coffee this morning?"

She grinned. "Came in early just to do it."

Sitting down, Sam gestured around the office. "And what about all this? Where did it come from?"

"Those started arriving yesterday. I guess people heard you were due back today. Don't worry, it won't be hard to get rid of it."

"I'll help, you know, take some stuff off your hands," Josh volunteered, looking at a tower of fruit, nuts and candy.

Sam nodded, carefully putting a basket of what appeared to be homemade cookies to one side. He met Josh's raised eyebrows with a small shrug. "From Mrs. Landingham."

"She made you cookies, like for you personally?" Josh asked, half awed and half jealous.

"She knows I like..." He looked at Cathy for help. "The ones with cinnamon sugar on top?"

"Snickerdoodles," she supplied.

"Sam, we _all_ like her snickerdoodles," Josh protested. "I mean, her chocolate chip are terrific, the oatmeal-raisin are incredible, but those are..." He paused, at a loss for a superlative strong enough.

"So much for your 760 verbal," Sam teased.

"Sublime! Her snickerdoodles are sublime!"

Toby appeared in the doorway. "Snickerdoodles? Where?"

Josh gestured at Sam. "Mrs. Landingham made them for him, and he won't share. Don't you think he owes us after what we went through last weekend?"

Sam sighed, but brought out the basket and offered it to his three visitors. After each had taken one, he put the basket underneath his desk. "I just want to warn you that I've got them counted."

"Taste better pilfered," Josh managed around his mouthful of cookie.

"That's it. They're going in my car first chance I get."

The phone rang, and Cathy hurried out to her desk to answer it, taking her cookie with her. "Sam Seaborn's office..."

Toby looked around the office. "Ever read _Day of the Triffids_?"

Cathy appeared in the doorway. "Sam, the President would like to see you."

Josh stood up as Sam put on his suit jacket and picked up the leather portfolio from the corner of his desk. Tucking his glasses into his shirt pocket, he followed Josh out.

"Lunch today?" Josh asked as they reached the Roosevelt Room.

"One o'clock in the Mess?"

"Sounds good."

"Josh, I've been looking all over for you!" Donna's voice carried down the length of the hall. "You're late for..."

"Later," Sam murmured.

Josh sighed as he turned to meet his fast-approaching assistant. "Much..."

* * *

When Sam walked into Mrs. Landingham's office, she was not at her desk, and the door to the Oval Office was closed. Hearing the murmur of voices coming from inside, he sat down on the edge of Ted's desk — or rather the desk that had been his before the President's bodyman had returned to Dartmouth for his senior year.

"Good morning, Sam," Mrs. Landingham said as she came through the door with a stack of files in her arms. "How are you, dear?"

Sam rose to his feet. "I'm fine. Thank you for the cookies. They're my favorites."

"You're very welcome." She put the files on the corner of her desk and looked steadily at him. With a small nod, she sat down. "How are your parents?"

Sam returned to his seat on the desk opposite hers. "They're both fine, although they swear they aged ten years on Saturday."

"I have no doubt they did." Mrs. Landingham looked at him over her glasses. "We were all very worried, but your mother and father..." She shook her head.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Margaret was touched they sent her flowers. It's a beautiful arrangement."

Sam added another name to his mental list of people to thank today. "They — we all appreciate everything she did for them."

The door to the Oval opened, and a group of people in uniform filed out. A few nodded as they passed Sam, a Marine colonel he knew on sight offered his hand.

Admiral Fitzwallace followed them out, a grin spreading across his face when he saw Sam. "Good to see you, son. First day back?" he asked, shaking hands.

"Yes, sir."

"You gave us quite a scare."

"So I've heard."

"I had lunch with Bob Day —" He paused at Sam's blank look. "Commandant of the Coast Guard."

"Oh, right."

"Great guy. We've been friends for years. Anyway, I told him that, if this happens again, the Navy would be happy to send a couple helicopters with SAR swimmers."

"Admiral, much as I appreciate that, you don't know how hard I'm going to try to keep this from _ever_ happening again."

Fitzwallace laughed. "Good to hear, Sam, good to hear."

"Sam?" the President called from the Oval. "Sam's out there?"

"Will he never use the intercom?" Mrs. Landingham murmured without looking up.

"Take it easy," Fitzwallace called back over his shoulder as he joined the small group of officers waiting for him in the hallway.

Sam walked into the Oval Office. "Good morning, Mr. President."

President Bartlet dropped his glasses on his desk and hurried forward. Taking Sam's hand between his two, he studied Sam's face.

Sam flushed, conscious of the deep concern in the President's eyes. It mirrored what he had seen on his parents' faces when he awoke at the hospital. It had not been until Monday afternoon that he had seen it start to ease.

Closing his eyes for an instant, the President murmured, "Thank God" before releasing his hand. Gripping Sam's upper arm, he directed him to the armchair Leo usually occupied. Sitting down opposite, he leaned forward, asking, "How are you?"

Sam unbuttoned his jacket. "The headaches are almost gone, the stitches come out in a couple of days, and the bruises are fading."

"You've been to see your doctor?"

"Monday. Overall he was pleased, but he told me to keep following the instructions the hospital gave me."

"Abbey was concerned about post-concussive syndrome. Did he mention anything about that?"

"He reviewed the symptoms with me, but he didn't seem overly concerned about it."

"Well, make sure we know what to look for as well."

"Yes, sir."

The President sat forward, his eyes never leaving Sam. "You know, this is the point where I usually make a bad joke, you laugh, and life goes back to normal."

Sam blinked, not sure what to say.

"I'm sure everyone has told you how concerned we all were."

It was not quite a question, but Sam managed a small nod.

"Sam, I have something to confess. I wasn't concerned; I was terrified. I was terrified for you. I was terrified for your parents and everyone here who loves you. But, most of all, I was terrified for myself."

Sam swallowed hard, but he could not look away from this man he was so privileged to serve.

"I was terrified I would lose you. Not just your words and your idealism, but the man I've come to know. I treasure our relationship, Sam. I treasure _you._ And on Saturday, I was terrified that I wouldn't have the chance to make sure you know that. As conceited as it may sound, I see a great deal of myself in you, but you're a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

"I —" Sam stopped and cleared his throat before trying again. "I'm honored, Mr. President. Thank you."

President Bartlet nodded as he leaned back in his chair. They were silent for a moment before he admitted, "Honestly, man, I can't take another accident like this one any time soon."

"Josh made me promise not to go sailing again until everyone's recovered from this."

"The first of the year is good as far as I'm concerned."

"That's about what Josh said."

His eyes drifted to the window over the President's shoulder and the Rose Garden beyond. At this time of day, it was still in shadow, but they had played touch football in the bright sunlight of afternoon. Had it only been ten days since the game?

"How are your parents dealing with all this?"

"They're certainly..." Sam cast around for a word. "Well, 'relieved' doesn't really cover it."

"I can't imagine it even begins to describe how they feel," the President murmured. "They're still here?"

"Actually, they fly home today. They have an 11:45 from Dulles."

President Bartlet's eyebrows rose. "You're not taking them?"

"I wanted to, but they insisted on taking a taxi so I could get back to work." Sam frowned. "They're extremely stubborn, sir."

"Like another Seaborn I know." The President stood up, and Sam immediately rose as well. "Mrs. Landingham!"

The door opened an instant later, and she asked calmly, "Yes, sir?"

"Arrange for a car and driver for Sam, will you? He's taking his parents to the airport."

"Sir, that's really not necessary," Sam tried as Mrs. Landingham hurried out, closing the door behind her.

The President gripped his shoulder. "Listen to me, Sam. Hug them, kiss them, and tell them you love them. There's absolutely nothing more important that you could be doing than that."

Sam nodded, emotion a hard knot in his throat.

"And, Sam?" He nodded toward the Rose Garden. "When I get back from vacation, we're going to give Josh and Toby that rematch they're demanding."

"Yes, sir."

The President opened the door for him. "Abbey and I are leaving on Friday for seven glorious days in Jackson Hole."

"Grand Teton?"

"Yes indeed. 484 square miles of national park." He pointed at Sam. "Established when?"

He thought and then shook his head. "I don't know."

"February 26, 1929." The President looked at the small group waiting for him. "Any National Park buffs?" When no one responded, he grinned. "Excellent!"

Sam hid a smile as he turned to go. Nodding to a few people, he made his way to the hall.

"Sam," the President called after him.

He turned back. The President stood beside Mrs. Landingham's desk, one hand resting on the back of her chair as she talked on the phone. In the hectic whirl of the West Wing, Sam was reminded that this man was its calm center. "Sir?"

The President touched his fist to his heart.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Now go get your parents." He gestured people into the Oval and followed them in. "What's next?"

* * *

AN: Thanks to all of you who made it this far, especially those who left such great reviews or sent me emails. Every one of them was appreciated. Thanks also to those who chose this as a favorite. Special thanks to the Lemanskis (USNR and especially, USCG). No, it wasn't a coincidence that the Coast Guard spokesperson shared your last name. I tried to keep everything as true to life as possible once I knew you were reading the story. And Ecri, this story wouldn't have been written if it hadn't been for you. ~ Pan


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